


Nocturnal Memory

by aliceslantern



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Canon - Kingdom Hearts Dream Drop Distance, F/M, Post-Kingdom Hearts Dream Drop Distance, Spoilers - Kingdom Hearts Dream Drop Distance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2018-12-09 23:52:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 81,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11679684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliceslantern/pseuds/aliceslantern
Summary: Dying takes a lot out of you, it's true, but when Demyx wakes up for the first time since his fight with Sora nothing's right. His memories are fragmented and he's missing his true name. And he's not the only one. An incomprehensible mystery and an inevitable war make him question what, exactly, he would do to become whole, and reclaim the music lost to him.





	1. Waking Up

**Author's Note:**

> This is an attempt of mine to bring an old fanfic more in line with current (as of 2017) KH canon. It also comes from Normura's unwillingness to release the official names of Demyx, Luxord, Marluxia, and Larxene, as well as a single, cryptic line in 3D--"Dilan and Even are unstable and resting". 
> 
> This story will have some instances of violence, portrayals of trauma, and other content which is not kid-friendly. I will always post appropriate warnings in those chapters. If there is a trigger someone notices that I have not covered, please let me know!
> 
> Also, I live for constructive criticism. Ya'll don't have to be nice.
> 
> Enjoy!

I.

Waking Up

Dying took a lot out of you.

            Ienzo tugged the bandages into place, sending jagged spikes of pain through Demyx’s chest. He just wanted ten minutes without something aching, burning, or smarting in any way. “I thought it was supposed to get better by now,” he said hoarsely.

            Ienzo tugged tighter, and he had to wonder if Ienzo thought this was actually a corset. “Normally, yes. Considering the nerve damage you sustained, though, it’s expected.”

            “For you.” Now that his chest was thoroughly entombed, he yanked his shirt back on, sending another spiral of pain through his body. He hissed through his teeth.

            “I’ve told you before, Nine, there’s nothing more I can do. Painkillers won’t be any help.” Ienzo crossed to the sink and washed his hands.

            “Please stop calling me that.” He put a hand against his ribs and tried to understand how his skin could be so numb and so painful at the same time.

            “Well, what am I to call you? You’ve yet to tell me your true name. And, frankly, I think it’s insulting to call you Demyx. Especially considering all we know now.”

            “Like Nine is any less insulting?” It was true; neither that name nor that title was really his. Still, he was cranky, and Ienzo was his only outlet. He was starting to feel woozy, which was another constant. Any strong emotion immediately caused swooning, like he was a Victorian lady. The way his chest was bound certainly made it feel that way. “Look… there’s something I haven’t been totally honest about.”

            Ienzo stared at him. “What is it?”

            He took a deep breath, but this time he found the accompanying sting grounding instead of annoying. “I don’t remember my true name.”

            For a long time there was a stiff, awkward silence. Finally Ienzo came over to him. He touched Demyx’s face and stared deep into his eyes, as though looking for something. “That’s strange,” he said. “You didn’t suffer any major head trauma.”

            His throat was starting to feel tight, and he pulled away from Ienzo’s grip. “It’s not there. I don’t know why. You would think…” He forced a laugh, and ended up coughing.

            Ienzo’s expression became oddly blank. “Well, the reformation process is messy, and you’re still healing. I’d say we wait another few days before we begin to worry.”

            _He uses the royal “we”._ “It’s already been a week—”

            “Nine. Please. It’s crucial right now that you don’t excite yourself.”

            “But I’m tired of resting. I just want to make sense of things,” he said.

            “I’m surprised. That’s unlike you.” Ienzo smiled.

            “Is it?”

            Ienzo gathered his things. “I’ll be back with something for you to eat in an hour or two. For now, though, you really should try and rest.” He left, and the slam of the heavy wooden door reverberated through the whole room.

            Demyx waited an extra minute or two, just to make sure Ienzo wouldn’t pop back in. Once he was sure that he was gone, he got out of bed. His legs were still shaky and uncertain, and the long, narrow room seemed to stretch on forever. He took a few steps, holding onto the dresser for support. There was a mirror by the washbasin and he wanted to know what he was in for.

            It took entirely too long to cross the room. Maybe he hadn’t been perfectly in shape before, but this weakness and helplessness was something new and hard to wrap his head around. Tightness formed in his lungs, and he worked hard to try and catch his breath. He made it at last.

            Demyx hadn’t really been able to look at himself since before the fight. He was expecting bad, but at the same time when he caught sight of himself he flinched. Everything about him was the same, but he looked exactly like he’d been to hell and back. Which was the truth. Well, of course, when a fifteen-year-old brat breaks your chest in, you can only spring back so fast. He’d had to have lost at least fifteen pounds; his face was borderline gaunt. His hair was unkempt, but that was a nonissue compared with everything else. It was harder to look at the bruises. They had mostly faded or been healed away by now, but there were still purple spots across his arms and under his eye. He slipped off his shirt.

            Demyx looked at the door again and listened for any noise in the hallway, but he heard nothing. Very slowly, he began to unravel the bandages, and the pressure eased. The bleeding had stopped, but the very bottom layers of cloth were damp with the fluid of new skin. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, one hand still full of gauze. The air seemed too cool against his skin.

            He didn’t mind scars. He had older ones that he’d gotten used to. They built character. Started a conversation. Still, when he looked at himself he couldn’t help but make some small noise of surprise, and he swore under his breath.

            The lines were jagged, red, and angry, like he’d been clawed apart and punctured. Ienzo had said that this was after he’d done his best to heal. They were everywhere, front and back, as high as his collarbones and down all the way to his hips. And although psychology dictated that nobody could remember physical pain after the fact, he swore he could still feel Sora’s blows at it had happened. At the time it had been so surreal… too surreal, like it happened in a dream. Only now did it take on vividness and sharpness in his memory.

            _I can remember getting beaten to death but I can’t remember my own name. Good game, me._

            Maybe Ienzo was right, and he would remember with time. But that also seemed like complete bullshit—a lie that had been told to protect his feelings. At the same time, not knowing was equally as bad. He took shallow breaths. It was fine. It was just fine. It wasn’t as if they had resented him for years, or anything. Easy.

            He wrapped himself back up, this time more comfortably, and got dressed.  He limped his way back to the narrow bed and lay down. He could see out the window; here it was high up, and the only things in sight were the sky and the far corner of one of the castle’s far walls.

            It was a beautiful spring day. Thin clouds drifted across the pale violet sky, and a cool breeze was coming through the window.

            Before he realized he had even fallen asleep, he was being jerked awake by loud voices in the hallway. The sun had started to set, and the light wasn’t white anymore, but a pale pink.

            “I’m not certain yet what it means,” Ienzo was saying; his voice was calm but he wasn’t making any effort to keep it low. Demyx noticed a wrapped plate with a sandwich on it and a cup of water was at the bedside. “I don’t want to draw any rash conclusions. You remember what it was like for you; your memories took days to restore and realign.”

            “Several days. It’s been weeks.” This voice was deeper, and he immediately recognized it as belonging to Xaldin’s Somebody.

            Weeks? He been told he’d been out for only a few days. He knew he’d been down for the count for some time, but still, something wasn’t adding up.

            “We should just be lucky he regained consciousness and sentience at all.”

            “Ienzo, doesn’t something seem wrong here? He didn’t reform as we did, in the same place where we lost our hearts. He reformed where his Nobody was killed.”

            “How are we to know that there’s a set way this must work? I’m only just starting to understand it myself.” The voices were starting to drift farther away. He longed to follow their conversation, but he doubted he could get to the doorway quickly enough to eavesdrop. “I’ll tell you what I told him. We’ll wait another few days before investigating further. We have too much to deal with as it is.” The door cracked open; light spilled in. He shut his eyes and pretended to still be asleep; the door shut again. The voices faded away completely.

            He sat up without his elbows, sending a spasm of pain through his stomach. _I hate this, I hate this, I hate this._ So what was he supposed to do—just sit on his hands and wait?

            Maybe Ienzo was right; maybe there was nothing to worry about. Some hope.

            He felt a little better after he ate, but he didn’t think he could stand being in this room another minute. He didn’t know where he would go; he doubted he could make it very far. But he was sick of listening to his thoughts go in circles.

            He made his way slowly to the door and opened it.

            The hallway was cool, dark, and quiet, and it smelled musty. There wasn’t any furniture to hold onto out here, so he skimmed one hand against the deep green wall. He was almost immediately dizzy and wondered why he was even bothering to do this in the first place. Maybe he should go back and wait; if he got caught he would almost definitely have to eat a table of crow.

            The other rooms in this hallway were bedrooms like his. He couldn’t get a very good look at much of anything; his head was swimming. He had to turn back, but he was starting to doubt his strength to do even that. Maybe all he needed to do was sit for a minute, but he wasn’t sure he could get up if he did. A sunburst of pain cut through his chest and he clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a cry. He put his hand under his ribs, where the pain was most intense. The bandages felt… suspiciously damp… and when he pulled his fingers away there was blood on them. Of course. His vision started to shimmer and go black at the edges.

            He heard the ghost of music. It was like someone had taken out all the sound but left behind the idea. In fact, the silence was almost suffocating. This wasn’t supposed to be how things happened. Everything should be clear, and he should be whole, and instead he was bleeding in a foreign hallway tracing an empty spot in his mind where music was supposed to be, with nothing but a number and a forged name that tasted like metal.

He tried to remember something, anything, but all his memories slipped through his fingertips like sand.

            _Let me remember. Let me remember_ something.

            In his mind’s eye, water. In real life, darkness.

 

             

           

 


	2. Salt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that he's started to heal, Demyx becomes exceedingly desperate to know why he's not whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Kingdom Hearts or any of its subsidiaries.

II.

Salt

_He hadn’t expected the water to be so salty. It seared into his skin and burned the still-healing blisters all over his hands. When he choked and swore at the pain, the sailors just laughed at him. “Hurts, don’t it,” one of them said. “Maybe it’ll toughen you up.”_

_Sometimes when he thought hard he realized how shitty his life was, to end up here. But he didn’t like to think. It got messy. The best thing to do was stay under the radar and keep his nose clean, and do just enough work to avoid being noticed. Maybe somewhere out beyond the sea he could find some place new, some place where the people were friendly and where you didn’t have to indenture yourself to avoid starving…_

 

 

* * *

 

Demyx woke drenched in sweat. His head was foggy and he fought against it, trying to remember what had happened this time. His shirt had been taken off and the bandages clinging to his left side were rusty red with dried blood. He lay back down slowly into bed. He felt like… he’d had a dream… he tried to reach for it before he forgot it entirely. Something about the ocean…

            “I hope you’re happy with yourself.” Ienzo’s stern voice forced him to look across the room. Demyx couldn’t see his face; he was ripping bandages out of an old sheet. The sheer tearing sound made him uneasy. “What’s the point of treating your wounds if you’re just going to keep ripping them open?”

            Yes, that was right… it was starting to come back. Even those memories from just a few hours ago seemed so indistinct and dreamlike. He’d… he’d left the room to try and find answers, but had only ended up passing out. “I’m sorry. But staying here alone is driving me crazy. I need to know what’s going on.”

            “Have you considered that the people around you know what they’re doing? I’m not keeping things from you out of spite, but with your welfare in mind. We’ll tell you what we know when you’re healed. Not before.” Ienzo’s sharp tone kept a rigid beat with the ripping cloth.

            “Alright. Alright.” He exhaled, sending another spasm of pain through his body as well as a wave of frustration.

            Ienzo kept working. For a long time that was how it went; Demyx would struggle to breathe without causing himself more pain, and the sound of the fabric would make him a little more anxious.

            “Ienzo?”

            “What?” He asked tersely.

            “I want you to call me Demyx.”

            The ripping stopped; Demyx sighed with relief. Ienzo paused but didn’t turn. He looked tense. “I suppose it’s your choice.”

            “I just don’t want to be known as a number. It’s bad enough that I have to use the name he gave me.” He looked up at the ceiling; the plaster was cracked and there was water damage. He kneaded a handful of blanket with one hand.

            Ienzo said nothing and resumed his work.

            Demyx closed his eyes. “Are you… mad at me?” He asked, and immediately felt stupid. “I mean, I know I wasn’t supposed to leave the room, but—”

            “I apologize if I seem tense. I am not angry with you.” _Rip. Rip._ There was no more sheet left. Ienzo hesitated, and then began to roll up the strips. “Are you still in pain?”

            “Well, it only hurts when I breathe, move, or am conscious, so you know…” He laughed a little nervously.

            “Then I trust I can leave you be for a few minutes? Will you be here when I get back?”

            He sighed. “Yes. I’ll stay here. I promise.”

            “Then I must take my leave for the time being.” He slammed the door behind him without once making eye contact or even looking in Demyx’s direction. 

* * *

 He was slowly drowning in boredom.

            Time moved slower than molasses. At least Ienzo had had the propriety to bring him some books to read, but Demyx was never one to sit in a room and read for hours. He couldn’t read more than fifty pages without getting antsy. It seemed odd to him that none of the others had visited. They hadn’t been the greatest of friends, it was true, but he was so tired of being alone that he would probably talk to an old boot. Sometimes the stiff silence felt like it might suffocate him.

            And even when Ienzo came, he never really engaged in conversation, but would say stuff like, “Really?” or “Is that so?” Demyx even tried to get him to talk about books, which he knew Ienzo loved unconditionally. He always seemed tense and stressed. In the week or so that passed before he was feeling better, Ienzo seemed to lose weight. His eyes were constantly bloodshot with heavy circles underneath them. Demyx knew it was pointless to ask what was wrong, though he nursed a small seed of resentment for being treated like a child.

            After ten slow, torturous days passed, he was more or less healed. He could breathe and sit up without being in agony, even if he would occasionally get a skittering flare if he exerted himself. The bandages were gone now, leaving behind a mess of angry red scars that were both numb and hypersensitive at the same time; so sensitive, in fact, that the coarse cotton of his buttoned shirts was too much, and he had to wear an undershirt. He could walk across the room without feeling faint. Demyx couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t think he could be in this room for one more hour without going insane.

            “I’m better,” he said to Ienzo as he checked his vitals. “You said so yourself yesterday. I’m better so please let me out of here or I swear to god I’m going to lose my mind.”

            Ienzo stared at him wearily. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “It’s not fair to you anymore. You are absolutely right.” His voice was monotonous.

            “Why are you acting so weird?” Demyx asked. “You’ve been off all week. What’s going on?”

            Ienzo sighed. He crossed his arms. “You’d best get some shoes on and come with me.”

            The only shoes he had were his boots from the Organization, and even those seemed oddly loose in the calves and feet. _Can you lose weight in your feet?_ He wondered. Still, it was a peculiar thought. What had happened to the cloaks? The only clothing he had now had been provided anonymously—simple, plain pieces with worn patches in the knees and elbows.

            Demyx followed Ienzo out of the room and down the hallway. Even with the sconces, it was so dark. _Different situation, different castle, but we’re still in a clusterfuck,_ Demyx thought.

            It took a long time. He might have been stronger than he was after waking up, but still he quickly tired and a steady burn soon started in his legs. He said nothing and tried to keep his breathing level in case Ienzo changed his mind and took him back. He missed his old body’s vitality. He might have died, and he might have a heart now, but still it sucked that he could barely _walk_ without getting tired.

            “You can rest, if you need, Nine,” Ienzo said as they rounded yet another corner. “I know it’s far and you’re still weak.”

            “How big is this place?” Demyx asked instead.

            “It’s not quite as large as the Organization’s, but it is a bit of an architectural folly. There’s no easy way to get from one place to the other. I… had almost forgotten.” A dreamy look came into Ienzo’s eyes.

            “So you’ve been here before?” Demyx asked.

            “Well, yes, of course. The first eight members of the Organization all lived in Radiant Garden prior to our transformation some twelve years ago. And most of us lived right here, in Ansem the Wise’s castle. I grew up here.” He spoke matter-of-factly. “My parents died when I was quite young. Ansem saw the potential in me and took me in.”

            “I’m sorry.” He’d known that the first six members of the Organization had been scientists, but most of the details he’d heard were hazy or vague. Still, Ienzo seemed much too young; he couldn’t be more than a year older than him.

            “It’s quite all right. I scarcely remember them anymore,” he said. “Even is more of a father to me, I suppose.”

            Demyx wondered where all this was coming from, after so many days of silence. He was tempted to ask. “Even raised you?”

            “In a way. Ansem the Wise was a scientist, but he was also a childless politician. He had no time or means to take care of a child, and I was only eight when I was taken in. Even had already been a parent. It seemed a natural arrangement.”

            “Vex—Even is a father?” Demyx asked. He tried to fit together his idea of Vexen with the concept of parenthood, and he couldn’t.

            “Was,” Ienzo said softly. “His son died many years ago. A sickness that could not be cured with magic. He turned to Ansem for that reason. And after he died… well... I suppose we became one another’s surrogates.” He shrugged.

            Demyx anagrammed quickly. “And Ansem the Wise… is Xemnas’s Somebody?”

            Ienzo smiled, but it was dry and ironic. “I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

            Ienzo told him everything.

 

 

* * *

Demyx was reeling. He could barely get his head around the story—it seemed fake—but the part of his mind that was hardwired to figure things out began to fill in the blanks. “So… I was right?” He asked weakly. “I was _right_ about us having hearts.” He laughed. “It was a joke then, to me. I thought…” Part of him felt deeply unclean, and he hugged himself absently. The idea of being a vessel for someone… his body taken, violated…He shut down the thought before it ran its course.

            Ienzo sighed. “It seemed so foolish. But now we know so much more.”

            “So what does that mean for us? For me? Are we all just trying to move on, or… where is Xemnas… Xehanort?”

            Ienzo shook his head. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Or at least the committee is.”

            The committee… that name sounded familiar… Demyx groaned. “You’re kidding me.”

            Ienzo shrugged. “You have to admit that this is the best option for more information.”

            “The Restoration Committee works with _Sora._ Who, might I add, killed most of us?” His voice rose. “They helped orchestrate our deaths.”

            Ienzo touched Demyx’s arm. “Please. Try to remain calm. You’re healed, but I don’t want you to stress. Look at it this way. Had your Nobody survived, you wouldn’t be here today. You wouldn’t be human.”

            “But I _would_ have been,” Demyx said. “Eventually, with time, if this bullshit is true and we were growing hearts. I would have had my _memories._ I would have known my damn name.”

            “I know it seems strange, but I promise you that this is for the best. The committee holds no ill will against us now that we’re on their side. We’ve been pardoned.” Ienzo eased Demyx down against the wall.

            “For what? What did we do that was so bad?” He demanded. “Maybe there’s a lot of shit I don’t know about the Organization, but what did we do?”

            Ienzo said nothing about that. “You really have remembered nothing of your previous human life? After all this time?” He asked instead.

            “No,” Demyx said. His heart was still racing. “I get… dreams… vague snippets of things… but… everything else is blank.”

            “I see,” he said.

            “You said we shouldn’t worry. But… shouldn’t I be whole?” He asked. “Isn’t that what this is all about? Now I’m even worse off than before.”

            “It seems so odd…” Ienzo said, more to himself than anything. “Why is the damage so extensive? Why _you?_ ”

            “What the hell are you talking about?” Demyx asked.

            Ienzo shook his head. “We need to keep moving. We’re going to go see Even.”

* * *

 “Look left.”

            The room was frigid and bright white, just like he remembered the castle used to be; he shivered. It didn’t help that he was currently shirtless and his body was pressed against a cold metal table. A bright penlight seared his retina. He tried to do what Even said.

            “And right again,” Even commanded. They had been going at this for some time. At first it seemed like some sort of concussion test, to see if his eyes could follow, but now Demyx was just getting irritated.

            The light clicked off, finally. Demyx’s eyes watered from the intrusion. He slipped his undershirt back on tried to rub the warmth back into his arms.

            Even’s lab was a disaster area—not at all how he remembered it. In the Organization it had been so orderly and well-stocked, but here the glass cabinets that were against all of the walls were smashed, there were only some scattered brown glass bottles, and exposed pipe jutted from the ceiling. It must drive him crazy.

            “What do you think?” Ienzo asked even, looking up from the moldering book he’d been perusing.

            “I’m not sure,” Even said. “We know so little, but I think your initial diagnosis is on the right path.”

            “Guys, I’m right here,” Demyx said.

            Even looked at him. There was no warmth in the expression, only befuddlement, like he was a puzzle that couldn’t be solved. There had been no love lost between them, but still it seemed unfair to Demyx that after all this time that their interaction was nothing more than routine. “It’s hard to say for sure. But we have reason to believe that someone—or some _thing_ —interfered with your reformation.”

            He blinked. His eyes were still stinging after the flashlight, and little purple dots swarmed across his vision. “What does that mean?” He saw Ienzo and Even exchange a look.

            “You’re not…” Ienzo hesitated. It was so unusual for him to stumble over his words that Demyx’s anxiety spiked. “You’re not _whole_. We have reason to believe…”

            “We believe that your heart has been fractured,” Even finished.

            “I don’t understand,” Demyx said. A tremor had crept into his voice. “What does that… I don’t…”

            “We’re not certain,” Ienzo said after a moment. “There is so little concrete, scientific information about the heart. We know that it’s a necessary component for a sentient being to exist. We know how darkness and light affect it, and that it _can_ , in fact, break without the body falling to darkness. But other than that, we know nothing.”

            Even took the book Ienzo had been poring through and flipped through the pages. “The heart contains memories, yes, but it only contains emotions and connections with others. It’s the will that makes logical sense of these things through its physical existence in the mind—it fills in facts. So if the heart is fractured… it would make sense for your memories not to be fully realized. They remain in your heart, but you cannot physiologically recall them. But the real mystery remains… how did this happen?” He shoved the book at Demyx and paced over to the window.

            The page had a crude diagram of the three components of being—a silhouette of a body, a heart in the center of the chest, and a dotted line drawn around the silhouette to signify the will.

            “But if your heart was fractured, you shouldn’t be able to remember _anything._ You’d be a complete and total amnesiac. You still quite clearly have some semblance of self. How is the memory loss so distinct, with such a clear cutoff?” Even spoke slowly, as if he wasn’t aware that both of them were in the room. He turned. “And why are you the only one with this much damage?” He demanded.

            “You think I know?” Demyx asked. “Like, seriously? I just woke up like this.” There was a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach and he thought he might be sick. “What will happen to me, then?”

            “It’s hard to be sure,” Ienzo said with some difficulty. “We had thought that eventually you would finish your reformation and become whole. But it seems like that won’t be happening. Right now we should try not to cause any further damage.”

            “You can’t fix it?” Demyx asked. He looked down.

            “I’m afraid not,” Ienzo said. “And even if there were some way, I’d be too afraid to mettle, in case something were to go wrong.”

            “Will it… heal itself?”

            “We don’t know,” Even said. He actually had the balls to try and be sympathetic. “I wish the answer were yes.”

            “Oh,” Demyx said. “I see.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “And… what happens if it gets worse? What would make it get worse?”

            Ienzo shook his head. “Should your heart totally shatter, you would be reduced to a comatose state. It’s possible that you could become a Nobody again, but shattering doesn’t draw out darkness in the same way. Restoration to a human state would be unlikely. Hearts only restore themselves if they’ve been lost.”

            “I’ll be as good as dead,” Demyx said. He felt faint. “And what are the odds of this happening?”

            “In your position, thankfully slim,” Ienzo said.

            “Or so we believe,” Even said. Ienzo shot him a look. “There’s no need to lie to the boy, Ienzo. The truth of the matter is that your heart may still try to heal itself. Your being will try to restore its natural order. Your memories may begin to return… and the energy and trauma that reawakens in you could threaten to shatter it.”

            “Trauma?” This was just getting worse and worse. He could barely listen anymore; he felt dizzy. But it was like looking at a train wreck—he had to find out more.

            “Well, surely considering you became a Nobody your heart and will are quite strong,” Ienzo said. He patted Demyx’s knee, and Demyx flinched. “It’s a stronger will that keeps one from falling into despair and, subsequently, the darkness. There must be moments from your past where you needed to strengthen your will in order to survive. Moments of crisis…”

            “Oh,” he squeaked. It was getting hard to breathe. He had to get out of here; but he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to run. “So what the hell am I supposed to do? Just… just… _live_ like this? With the fact that any moment I could remember something and fall over and never wake up?” His fingers had gone numb.

            “Demyx,” Ienzo said. “The possibility of this happening is all very slim.”

            “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snapped. “You keep saying you don’t know much about the heart. How can you be sure that I’ll be okay?” A tight pain gathered in his chest.

            “We can’t,” Even said.

           


	3. The Committee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After learning some horrifying news about his reformation, Demyx is briefed on the situation in Radiant Garden, and the restoration committee asks for his help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll. Me again. If you read this please take a minute and leave a comment! I worked very hard on this story and I would love to hear what you think. Even a simple "I liked it" or "I didn't like it" would mean the world to me!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or any of its subsidiaries. This is a not-for-profit fan work.**

III.

The Committee

The walk back to his room was silent. Demyx tried to push against the wall of anxiety that was threatening to crush him— _think of literally anything else_ —but it seemed to be in vain. He felt like he was choking.

"Nine?" Ienzo asked. "Are you all right? You seem… overwhelmed."

 _No shit._  "I… I'm… I want to be alone," he said in a small voice. "Please."

"You're certain?" He asked.

He nodded.

"I'll come to check up on you," Ienzo said. "There's a committee meeting later and we feel your input would be valuable. But if you don't feel up to it I understand."

The whole time he spoke all Demyx could think was  _shut up shut up stop talking_. And when the door was finally, blessedly shut, leaving him in the solitude of this horrible room, he sank down onto the mattress. At first he tried to resist the urge to curl into a ball and cry, but he wasn't sure what else he would do with himself if he didn't.

_What the hell am I supposed to think about that? What do I do now?_

What was worse, there  _was_  nothing for him to do. He knew that Even and Ienzo usually knew what they were talking about, or at least speculated in the right direction. Unless some miracle befell him, he was royally fucked.

* * *

After hours of panicking, Demyx had thought that the day wouldn't get any worse. Of course, he was wrong.

He wasn't sure how he had found himself sitting at the Restoration Committee's panel that afternoon. Maybe it was because he was slowly going mad and the prospect of having something—anything—other than his own literal deterioration to think about was appealing. Maybe he thought that seeing his old coworkers would make him think that this current reality was just a nightmare. Maybe he was just too tired to object to Ienzo's invitation. Either way, there he was, sitting at a long wooden table with Even and Ienzo, waiting for the others to arrive. He wasn't even a hundred percent sure who all the "others" were, but he knew that if Sora showed up Demyx might die. Again.

"How have you been processing this, Nine?" Ienzo asked. "You seemed… distressed… when I left you."

"Why are you calling me Nine again?" Demyx asked. "I asked you to call me by my name."

Ienzo nodded. "It's habit, I suppose," he said, but Demyx could tell by the way he knotted his hands that he was lying.

"Who else is in this hell committee that I'm not aware of?" He asked instead of pressing farther. "He's not… Sora's not…"

"No. Sora isn't coming. I wouldn't have asked you to come if he were. He's far too busy right now." Ienzo flipped open a notebook; Demyx squinted.

"Hey," he asked. "Where's your lexicon? Couldn't you take notes in that?"

Ienzo stared at him, but before he could formulate an answer the door banged open. Axel's Somebody barged in. Unlike the rest of them, he was still wearing the black coat, albeit with a red and orange kerchief around his neck. There was a glowing confidence to him that was different than before, more wholesome. He caught Demyx's eye. "Well, look who it is?" He came over and clapped him on the shoulder. "I was wondering when these two eggheads would let you rejoin normal society."

"Nine's health has been delicate," Ienzo interjected. "We figured it was best for him to remain behind." Ienzo's jaw and shoulders were tight. Even had a hard, uncomfortable look on his face, and his hands were clutched in front of him, the knuckles white. Demyx didn't understand why they were reacting to Axel like this.

Axel's Somebody shrugged. "Whatever you say. Anyway, how have you been?" He spoke very quickly, and didn't let Demyx answer. "It's like the gang's all here. Well. For the most part. Name's Lea, by the way. I figured you were wondering."

"All… all right," Demyx said. "You look… good."

"It's been a wild ride," Lea admitted. He flopped down in the seat next to Demyx and propped his feet up on the table; Ienzo wrinkled his nose. "Did brownnoser here tell you the news?"

"That depends on which news," Demyx said tersely.

"I'm a Keyblade wielder," he said. He smiled smugly. "It's been surreal, I admit…"

"Wait… what? But… aren't there only like two Keyblade wielders, ever?" He couldn't mesh his concept of Lea with his idea of what a Keyblade wielder should be like.

Lea whistled. "Boy, do you have a lot to learn."

He put his head in his hands. "Look, everything's really complicated right now, I've been told like a million things. I'm kind of overwhelmed."

Lea laughed. "Good thing you're at an intel meeting then." He slapped Demyx on the shoulder again. He turned to Even. Even's voice was level, but strangely harsh. Demyx wasn't listening; he was again slipping. He wanted to get up and run out of the room. But then what? Where would he go?

The door opened again and in came Dilan and Aeleus. Dilan's gaze passed right over Demyx, and he spoke in a low voice to Even about something that had happened on the outskirts of the castle. The noise in the room seemed muffled and Demyx found himself getting dizzy again. After so long with only Ienzo for company, the sight of so many people was almost too much.

"It's good to see you back in full health, Nine," Aeleus said. He sat across from him. The deep blue of his guard uniform softened his otherwise harsh features; without the frame of the black cloak, Demyx barely recognized him. He even afforded him a smile. "We've been worried."

"…Thank you," he said, though he doubted it.

"Have you been briefed about the situation?" He continued in that unnervingly kind voice.

"Sort of?" Demyx asked. "It's hard to tell what I know and don't know. I know about the vessels, and how we had hearts all along, and now I just learned about Lea—"

Dilan, on his other side, rolled his eyes. "Ah, yes. Seems like something right out of a torrid pulp novel, does it not?" He paused. "And presumably you haven't been told about what we would like you to do?"

This day was getting weirder and weirder, or was the right phrase  _worse and worse_? "Um… no?"

"Well obviously you're quite skilled at intelligence gathering. Nobody would dispute that fact." He chuckled. "So you see—"

The door opened again. A dull headache sprung up in his head. A small group of people came in, chatting. Demyx recognized them from all his reconnaissance work—this was the core of the Restoration Committee. He knew their faces better than their names. It was strange to see them so up-close. This was getting too surreal. His tried to keep his breathing level.

Before he looked down, he caught the gaze of the shorter, dark-haired girl. She gave him the same look of disgust as you would a rat in the gutter. Demyx looked away. He felt nauseous now and just wanted this to be over.

"How long do these meetings usually take?" He whispered to Dilan.

"That would depend on our friends," he said. "Sometimes they have a lot to say, sometimes very little. It all depends on the information  _they_  have gathered."

"From Sora?" Demyx watched the woman with brown hair chat with Aeleus. She had a kind smile on her face.

"And the other allies."

"Allies? So… like… we're… actively fighting this?  _This_  being Xe—"

Dilan tapped his palm. "Not yet, Nine."

Demyx groaned. "Not you too."

"So then it hasn't been explained to you?"

"I don't know!" He said a bit more loudly than he intended; the older man with the blond hair gave him a look. "I don't know anything about… anything."

The angry girl sat next to Dilan. She rolled her eyes and then started talking to the brown-haired woman. Dilan raised one eyebrow.

Demyx turned to Dilan. "I think I have to go." He tried to get up—for a minute he thought his legs might be too weak to stand—but a voice stopped him.

"All right. Is everybody ready to proceed?" Ienzo asked. Demyx took a deep breath to try and steady himself. He wouldn't listen, that was all. He wouldn't listen and it would be fine.

He'd been trained too well from many years of reconnaissance and annoying meetings. No matter how much he tried to distract himself words like  _casualties_  and  _undeniable influence_ and  _total world annihilation_ slipped through his net and a trembling nausea grew in the pit of his stomach. Demyx couldn't help but wonder—had the old Organization done things like this? Of course, he'd never committed any atrocities like that with his own hands during his tenure, but had he planted the seeds just by following orders? He put his head in his hands and tried to push the thoughts away.

"…And that's where you come in."

Dilan nudged him; Demyx was being addressed. He looked up. "What was that?" He asked.

The angry girl—her name was Yuffie—snorted.

"You'll have to excuse him, Nine has been inundated with quite a bit of information today," Ienzo said. The babying, though well-intentioned, just made him feel worse, and a hot flush flooded his face.

"Well, obviously it would be good to have you in the field, with your reconnaissance skills," the man with the scar said. "But… there is another… more pressing matter where we feel you could be helpful."

 _And if I don't want to_? "…And what would that be?" Demyx felt heat building behind his eyes and he prayed that he wouldn't start crying.

"The reservoirs are in shitty shape," the blond man, Cid, said. "They're old, and we don't have the resources to fix them properly."

He blinked quickly. "I don't get it."

"Your power over water. If you could clean our fresh water sources and reroute them while someone else fixes the old system, instead of investing so much time trying to mine new wells, it would be immensely helpful. We have to ration enough with the dry season coming." Aerith, the kind woman, afforded him another genuine smile.

Demyx was reaching the end of his rope. He couldn't hold the panic back anymore; it was like an elastic band and it was about to snap on him. Truthfully he hadn't  _thought_  about his powers since waking up. Maybe it was just his terrible reformation, but he wasn't even sure if he had any powers at all anymore.

"Nine is still healing from a traumatic metaphysical wound," Ienzo added. "Right now, using his powers might endanger him."

"It would be wonderful if you could try, though I understand." Aerith tilted her head. Of course. They all  _wanted_  something from him but they didn't care how he felt about it. His eyes were damp.  _Hold on. Hold on._  The angry girl was now starting at him with a bemused expression. They were all staring at him, waiting for him to say something. Only Lea had the decency to look away.

"Yes. I'll try. Whatever. Now I, um, have to go." He didn't listen for a response. He didn't care who he had to trip over to get out of the room, he just had to get out. Demyx stumbled over to the door and slammed it on his way out. He was able to get to the end of the hall before the panic overtook him completely and he collapsed. He leaned against the wall and choked for air. He couldn't feel his fingers and he thought his chest might split open.

"Hey, buddy." A voice—so soft he had trouble placing it as Lea's—called out to him.

The humiliation burned through him, and he gritted his teeth. "Why won't you people leave me alone?"

He heard the zipper of Lea's jacket brush against itself as he sat down. "I only wanted to see if you were alright."

He laughed through a sob. "Oh, that's rich."

"You held it together really well, considering. I can only imagine. Ienzo told me about your reformation."

The word vomit was on the edge of his tongue—he wondered if he would spill. "Nobody seems to care about how I feel, or what I want. They're all… they're all treating me like a child, trying to figure out, "oh, what will we deign ourselves to tell Demyx today?" And they all want something. I know it. But I didn't  _ask_  for any of this to happen." He was shaking with adrenaline.

Lea's expression was aggravatingly neutral. Demyx wanted him to contradict him, or to tell him off. "No, I get it."

"Look. I don't  _care_  about this stupid committee, or the resistance, or whatever. I just want to  _live_." He knew how pathetic he must sound. "But who knows if that'll happen." For a few minutes he flat-out cried while Lea sat there. His old wounds were getting irritated.

Lea stood. "Want to go for a walk?"

Getting out of the castle was appealing, but he wasn't sure he could. "I guess."

He forced himself to his feet. His hands still trembled, but he was more or less over the worst, at least for now.

Demyx and Lea walked through the hallways in silence. Lea mercifully moved very slowly. They passed by some open windows, and Demyx realized that he hadn't yet been outside since waking up. A cool breeze fluttered the ragged curtains; it looked like it would rain soon. He leaned against the frame and closed his eyes. The air felt good against his swollen face. "What'll happen to me?" He asked. He didn't expect an answer; he just wanted to hear it out loud.

"I'm sure it'll all work out," Lea said. "You've been lucky this far."

Lucky? He called this lucky?

Lea touched him on the shoulder. "You want to keep going?"

Demyx sighed. "No. I'm pretty tired. I think I just want to lie down."

But he didn't move. The air smelled like spring rain and relief. He was falling. Falling? Fa—

 


	4. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As some of Demyx's memories begin to return, he decides to get stronger in order to use his powers, only to discover that something vital to him has been lost.

IV.

Gone

Darkness.

It was cold… and damp… no. That wasn't right. Everything was burning, you could hardly see for the flames. He tried anyway, but every time he went to go through them they wove closer. Brightness, insufferable brightness, though his skin was numb.

No. That wasn't right either.

He couldn't make sense of what he was seeing. It kept changing, flickering at a second's notice, leaving him with more viscera than substance. A boat. No, a house, then a path in the woods, then a woman's face. His own voice, foreign and detached as if reading from a piece of paper—

_I wasn't born anywhere near the ocean. That was a lie I told myself, the others. For some reason it made things mean more. No. I was born in the dryness of plains, so dry the dust smothered, and my mother—_

He was falling again.

* * *

Literally falling.

Lea had caught Demyx by the collar. They were both half-dangling out of the open window in the castle in Radiant Garden. His name was Demyx and he was empty and hollow.

Lea's eyes pierced right through him. "Are you all right?"

He couldn't speak. He could feel the dust gathering in his lungs, gluing his tongue to his teeth.

Lea slapped him. "Snap out of it!"

The stinging in his cheek brought him back to reality. "What—"

"You fainted. You almost fell clear out of that window."

Demyx looked down; the ground was at least three hundred meters below. "Thank you," he said, but he was too shaken to mean it. "I think… I think I remembered something…"

"What did you remember?" Lea's eyes weren't just piercing; they seemed to glow. Demyx had trouble processing what a person's face was supposed to look like and he dropped his gaze to Lea's kerchief.

How did he possibly verbalize any of that? The woman standing in the tall dry grass. She was blonde like him, wasn't she? Or brunette? Or redhead. Somewhere in the same family. Her standing there in the grass in her blue dress with the ragged calico apron. The taste of dust. Always. Always. Demyx put his head in his hands. It hurt. He thought his skull might split open.

"I should bring you back to your room," Lea said.

"Who was she?" He spat. "That woman… who…"

"There was no woman, buddy."

"There  _was_. I saw her. She was… she was…" A slick metallic taste filled his mouth.

"Let's get you back to Ienzo. Can you stand?" His face was closed now, guarded, but at least all of his features were where they were supposed to be. Lea slipped his arm around Demyx's waist and hauled him up.

He didn't know how he got back to the room, but he found himself with a mug of something hot in his hands and a blanket around his shoulders. It was raining now, and water pounded heavily against the closed window. The sound soothed him.

"You should drink that." Ienzo was boring holes into him with his gaze. "You'll feel better."

Did he even feel bad to begin with? Still, he sipped. It was sweet with an antiseptic undertone.

"It was stupid of me," Ienzo said. "I should have known that was too much for you in one day. I'm sorry, Nine. I was… distracted. I should have been looking out for your wellbeing."

He kept drinking; Demyx liked the way it burned his throat. He had no idea what it was. Alcohol? A sedative? Straight poison?

"Please say something. I'm worried."

He didn't want to give him the satisfaction. "…The medicine?" His own voice sounded strange.

"A calming draught. You were… very distressed when Lea brought you back."

"Was I?" There was no more of the drink and he clutched the mug. "I feel… light…"

Ienzo touched Demyx's forehead. "You should rest."

He wasn't tired, but the drink was making his body heavy. He lay down, struggling to burrow in the sheets. Ienzo took the blanket from his shoulders and laid it over him. Demyx heard him walk across the room and the light clicked off. Still, he didn't sleep, but watched the rain beat against the window, halfway between consciousness and unconsciousness.

He must have fallen asleep at some point for real, because he woke up suddenly in the middle of the night desperately needing to pee, and stumbled blearily towards the door. Through the crack in the doorway he could see another door open in the hallway, a sliver of gold light on the dark carpet. Demyx heard voices, still half asleep.

"…Very worrisome indeed." Aeleus's voice.

He shuffled, one hand along the wall for support.

"We are well and truly out of our league here. Every time we think we know the extent of the damage, something seems to happen. I worry for the boy. He is unstable, but there is no denying that he could be what we needed all along." Even. Of course.

His bladder complained for waiting around and eavesdropping, but he couldn't stop. They were talking about him. He knew they were.

"And what of how he feels?"

"He'll have to be made to understand. That's all."

He waited for them to clarify what they meant, but he heard the shuffling of papers and more silence. A couple of more minutes passed and nothing was said. He headed off to the bathroom in a daze, trying to make sense of these new cryptic statements.

* * *

He'd just had breakfast the next morning when he heard a knock at the door. He figured it was Ienzo or one of the others and huffed. But when he opened the door, a woman was standing there. It was Aerith from the meeting, with a basket. She smiled. "May I come in?"

He obliged, mostly out of surprise. She set her basket down on his dresser. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I'm Aerith." She offered her hand.

He took it. She had a strong handshake. "…Demyx."

"Nice to formally meet you. I wanted to talk to you yesterday, but you left in such a hurry."

He wasn't sure what to say. "I was feeling… pretty overwhelmed."

"But everything is all right?" She frowned.

"I… I guess…" A stranger didn't need to hear his woes.

She reached into her basket. "Well, part of the Restoration Committee's job is seeing that new residents feel comfortable and welcome. This is for you." She held a cloth bundle out to him. It was warm and full of fresh-baked cookies.

"Thank you. So much." After days of eating nothing but the same bland things over and over again the smell made him feel weak. "But why—"

"You're not used to being shown kindness, are you?"

What was he supposed to say to that? He clutched the bundle.

Aerith nodded. "Well, unfortunately I have to go. But if you ever want to drop by and visit, I live in the residential district in the eighth sector. It's towards a corner, under the name Gainsborough. Even if you just need a friend." She picked up the basket. "Have a good day, now."

"You… you too." He watched her go, transfixed. The cloth was soft in his hands, blue and covered with pale yellow flowers. He took out one of the cookies and ate it, again on the verge of tears.

He went down to the library by himself. The only way to get stronger was to try and push his limits, day by day. It was rough going, but worse than that was being unable to walk up stairs without feeling on the brink of collapse. He was looking for Aeleus. He wasn't sure he really wanted to ask him for this favor but he knew he should for his own good.

He found Aeleus puttering in the library, probably trying to hover over Ienzo.

"You're better, I hope?" Aeleus asked. "We were all quite concerned yesterday."

"Yeah… well… a lot happened." And a lot more that hadn't been told. "I was wondering if… maybe you could help me…"

Aeleus didn't ask what it was; he just stared down at him expectantly.

"Well… the truth is… ever since I reformed, you know, I've been pretty, uh, frail?" Aeleus wasn't the type of person to put you out of your misery in conversation. "And I was wondering if maybe you might be able to help me… get stronger? I guess?"

Aeleus said nothing. He barely blinked.

"Obviously you don't  _have_  to. It was a… question." He bit the inside of his lip.

"I'll help you," Aeleus said. And nothing else.

"All right. Thanks. That's really generous of you?" He figured at that moment death would be preferable. "So… like… how do we go about this…"

"I'll need to think first," he said. "There's a lot to consider."

"Right. Of course. So I guess I'll. Uh. Go now." Demyx left the library, blood burning in his face, thinking about what the hell he had just gotten himself into.

* * *

Thankfully, it wasn't anything new and it didn't involve a whole lot of getting hit. Lexeaus and Xaldin had often double-teamed training the Organization members; Xaldin had been more of the whip-cracker, while Lexeaus knew your limits and genuinely tried to help. They repurposed a larger empty room to the east, and Aeleus found some old weights. The workouts were exhausting, but not unduly so. Demyx found himself liking that he had something to do, at least, for an hour or so a day. Aeleus didn't make him feel uncomfortable; not like the others did. They didn't talk a lot more than necessary. There was something comfortable in this silence, progressive rather than frustrating.

After about two weeks of more or less constant soreness, he  _was_  stronger. Demyx could at least walk the length of the castle comfortably. He shouldn't have been proud of something so simple, but he felt better knowing he could escape into town if he had to.

One day, he was resting at the end of the session when Aeleus actually spoke to him first.

"You're different," he said.

He didn't understand. "Different… like…"

"A different person. Determined. But emptier, I feel, as well."

What was that supposed to mean? "Well, I mean, I didn't want to be that weak forever-"

"Have you tried to summon your weapon?" Aeleus was putting back the equipment, rather meticulously, fitting the weights in a small pyramid.

"No. I haven't tried to use any of my powers. I feel like I would get yelled at." It was true. He didn't know why he was procrastinating, but the idea of the heart damage was so terrifying he wasn't sure if using magic would somehow make it  _worse_.

"By whom?" Aeleus turned to him.

"Ienzo. Even. I don't know."

"I think maybe you should. These halls are awfully quiet."

Quiet? The word started to unravel something sinuous inside of his head. What did he mean by  _quiet_?

"Nine?"

Demyx looked up.

"You do remember that much, don't you?" Aeleus's calm, unchanging expression was starting to unnerve him. "What was its name? What did you call the sitar?"

A sharp pain pierced through his head and he put a hand to his temple, as though that would somehow help.

_Its_  name? That wasn't right. She wasn't an  _it_. She was… she was…

Her name gone, quiet, like a whisper. For the first time the silence in the room was suffocating and all he could hear was his own harsh breathing. Where was she?  _Where was she?_

"Nine?" Aeleus repeated. "It was taken from you, wasn't it?"

He tried to stand but slipped and fell onto the hard ground. He felt the scream building in him, burning, and clapped a hand over his mouth instead but the sound escaped through his skin anyway. It wasn't a sound of fear but of an intense, paralyzing grief.


	5. Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After learning that the most crucial part of him has been taken, Demyx tries to find a way to heal himself, and remembers something particularly disturbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***THIS CHAPTER HAS GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE***

V.

Fight

"Nine? You should eat something."

He said nothing. The glass window was already warm from his skin and there was nothing to look at, but he didn't move.

"It's been hours. You must be hungry."

Don't say anything. Don't move.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much. Your memories  _are_  returning. It will come back with time."

Liar.

"Will you look at me? Will you say something?"

Demyx looked at Ienzo just to have the satisfaction of glaring at him. His back hurt from sitting like this for so long and his throat was almost raw with thirst, but all the need and pain seemed oddly detached from him.

"At least drink something." He hated the pity in Ienzo's eyes. "You'll feel better with something in your system."

"Shut. Up." He looked back out the window.

"We're all quite concerned. We had no idea that the damage was this extensive—"

"Shut the fuck up I swear to god."

"We will figure this out, Nine. I promise."

"Do you?" Even his skin felt like it was burning and there was the sensation of being more next to his body than in it. Demyx pressed his face into his knees. "Like what the fuck even am I. Honestly."

A long, long minute passed.

"I'll leave this here for you," Ienzo said. "Please try to eat it."

He ignored him. Once the door had clicked shut he lay down in bed, his back aching. Every muscle in his body hurt. They were on fire.

How had he existed—so passively—without even realizing? He had forgotten it, all of it, all of the music. Even his fingertips were soft from not practicing for so long. And that part of his mind was still empty, quiet, smooth. He wasn't Demyx's Somebody. He wasn't even Demyx. He was… a… a body, a corpse. There were a few fragmented memories where he could remember himself using that… instrument… and he remembered it making that life less hollow; at least, as a Nobody. His human memories were wiped clean.

Should he try? Should he even bother trying to summon her? He opened his left hand and stared at the palm, and the small silver scar he didn't remember getting. Demyx pulled, trying to remember the feel of calling her. At first nothing. And then a sharp arcing pain and a brief flash of what had to be memory. Lying down in a field, barren inedible grasses swaying overhead, joints painful and creaking. The taste of hunger.

He sat up. Very slowly. He looked at his own bones; he was still thinner than he should be but he was not starving. Was not weak.

He reached over and picked up the plate that Ienzo had left for him.

* * *

The residential district was a mess. There was no sense to its organization. There weren't really streets, just an endless maze of houses cluttered close to one another. There were more people here than he had seen in a long time; children no younger than eight or so, running around and playing. Some of the slightly older ones had weapons strapped on their backs or at their hips, but they didn't seem to notice them as they chased each other. The noise was incredible, too, reflecting off of the stone buildings. There was no grass here or anything, only the occasional flowerbed or dry fountain.

He found the house with some difficulty. It was towards the back of this sector, off a bit from the others. It was comparatively nondescript, with the same wooden shutters as the other houses. The only difference was the flowers. The other attempts in the neighborhood at growing anything had resulted in some stringy, dry, weedy wildflowers, but these plants were bright and green and alive, and their flowers were colorful against the gray stone. Their smell made him dizzy.

The nameplate next to the front door was embossed bronze.  _179 Gainsborough/Kisaragi_ , it read. He took a deep breath and knocked twice. Nobody answered, and for a minute he thought nobody was home. Maybe he had just wasted all this energy for nothing. Demyx had the sudden strong urge to crawl out of his skin. He was about to leave when the door finally opened.

Aerith looked surprised. "Oh, hello."

"Am I… I'm not… interrupting anything, am I?"

"No." She squinted at him. "Is everything alright?"

What could he possibly say to that? "I was wondering… I don't know if you would possibly know…" it was hard to string the words together. Even the simple act of speaking was almost too much. "You're a healer, right? Like that's what you  _do_."

Her hand flew to her mouth. "Are you wounded?"

"No… not my body, anyway… I was wondering…" but Demyx saw her change in expression. "You already know what I was going to ask." He crossed arms, suddenly chilly. "Should I—maybe I should just go…"

She offered a gentle smile. "No. Come in. I'm sure we have a lot to talk about."

"…Thanks."

The house was tiny and dark. Most of it was made out of stone, lending to its natural gloominess, and it left a sort of dank chill in the air. Aerith and whoever else lived here had tried to brighten up the place; there were more flowers and greenery inside, and there was an intricate blue tapestry over the small couch that he didn't get a good look at. Aerith gestured for him to follow her into the cramped kitchen. There wasn't much here—a hot plate, a sink, and a handful of cabinets. He sat down at the small table and stared at the bare bulb hanging not far above it.

"Would you like some tea?" Aerith asked. She crossed behind him and fussed with something inside the cabinets.

"Um, sure." Demyx clasped his hands to stop the shaking. Even though there was a window in the kitchen, the room was small enough that the walls felt like they were closing in on him. He took a deep breath and listened to the kettle whistle.

A few minutes later she sat down across from him and handed him a mug. He turned the handle around and around, watching the water gradually deepen in color and trying to figure out what he wanted to say. Now that he was here, everything inside his head had gone to static.

"I find it interesting that you came to me," Aerith said after a while.

He forced himself to make eye contact. "Why?"

"I thought that there was a good deal of tension between you all and us. I thought you would trust them more than me. Maybe you do," she reflected.

"I just..." He took a drink to get rid of the dryness in his throat. "I was… coasting along for a while, I don't know, and I thought maybe I could accept what was really going on? But I didn't realize it how bad it actually was. Do you… do you know the story?"

She leaned back in her seat. "I've heard pieces."

"Well, somehow, and I think they know more than they're all letting on, my restoration got botched. My will is fine. There's nothing wrong with that. But my body… didn't heal when it reformed, and my heart it's… I don't know, fractured? And I have no clue how but somehow my memories are all messed up. Which would have been  _fine_ , I could have gotten along." He wished she would say something, but she listened with an open expression. "And then I realized something. Part of me… the biggest part, you know, that I really considered made me  _me…_  it was gone." Demyx's eyes were starting to burn. He took another sour drink.

"And what is that?" Aerith asked gently.

"I was…" A lightning bolt of anxiety. The walls pressed a little closer. " _Am_  a musician," he asserted, as if saying it out loud could change that. "But after I woke up I totally forgot about it. Totally. I forgot my instrument's name, and… everything's just so  _quiet_ , you know, before I used to hear the sound in everything. Or it would be quiet, I don't know the difference, I assume. I'm not even sure I can read music. It's all…" He trailed off, slightly breathless. "It's this weird case of me not being me?"

She let the air sit between them and he breathed for a few minutes. Then she said, "So why did you come?"

"I don't know." He didn't. He didn't believe that she would be able to help him. Maybe he just needed to talk to someone objective so his head wouldn't explode.

Aerith stirred her tea; the spoon clinked softly against the ceramic. She cocked her head. "I heal  _bodies_ ," she said after another substantial pause. "And even if I did know some way to fix your heart, I would be too afraid of making things worse. I don't think you quite understand the tenuous position you're in."

She was starting to sound a little like Ienzo, and the blood rushed to his face. "That's just it. I  _do_. But everyone is making it sound like all I should do is just… sit around! Sit around and do  _nothing._  But what nobody seems to get is that I don't  _want_  to do that. I  _can't_  do that." His nails were digging into his palm and he forced his fists to unclench. "What's the point of coming back at all if I can't even be me?"

She didn't respond to that. "There is no magical cure for this. The people you work with would know better than I would what's happening to you. If you were told to wait, it's with good reason."

Now he was just tired. "…Is it?"

She smiled. "I'm sorry. I can only imagine how you must feel." She pushed her mug aside. "If having lost that part of yourself bothers you so much, why not try to learn anew? Maybe the key is not to force the old memories to come back, but to coax them out by making new ones."

His head hurt. "I'm sorry," Demyx said softly. "I didn't mean to come over just to yell, but I'm frustrated."

"It's all right. I asked you to come."

He stood. "Thanks for hearing me out. I'll let you get back to work."

"Have you thought about what we asked?" Aerith added. "I suppose it's sort of ironic, all things considering…"

"Oh…" He blinked. "Well, I…"

"Please think about it. After all, you'll be at the meeting tomorrow, won't you?"

"I mean, I didn't know there was a meeting, but I guess so." Oh boy, another thing he would have to steel himself for. "Um, take care."

"You too, Demyx. Try not to worry."

It was startling to hear his name after being a number for so long. He bobbed his head and stepped back out into the street.

It was getting dark out. He had to hurry back. He might have been doing slightly better, but by no means could he handle a fight with any sort of Heartless. Especially since he had a heart now… well, they hadn't been all  _that_  deterred, back as a Nobody… Now it made sense…

"What were you doing in my house?"

The voice caught him off guard as he turned a corner and he collided into the wall. Face smarting, he whirled around looking for the voice.

"Up here, idiot."

Yuffie stood on one of the rooftops nearby. She held a large four-bladed shuriken in her hand and she twisted it back and forth. She scowled at him.

"Aerith invited me," he said at last. "Not like it's any of your business."

She jumped down and walked towards him. She was smaller than he had thought, a good head shorter than him, but the weapon seemed to make all the difference. "What did  _she_  want with  _you_?"

He was not going into it with her. "Why do you care? Don't you have better things to do?"

She stopped twisting the shuriken. "As a matter of fact I do, and I was about to warn your sorry ass that night is coming and you should go back to whatever hole you crawled out of unless you want to lose your heart a second time. But I mean, you can  _fight_ , can't you?" She smirked.

What did he even say to that? "What is your problem?"

"You're kidding, right?" She took another step closer and he had to fight hard not to flinch. "What, are your memories  _that_  fucked up?"

He shook his head, confused. He put up his hands.

"Before Sora cut you down, you tried to stop him from getting to those Heartless. You could have brought darkness to this world. Again."

"… _That?_ " It was true that the Organization had allowed that witch to breed the Heartless out of control-mostly because the world contained so much  _space_  and with Sora's allies there, it would be the perfect way to harvest hearts. "Look, I had nothing to do with that. I was just following orders."

"Those orders could have gotten people killed. Didn't you think about that? And don't say it was because you couldn't feel, I know you had part of a heart. I know."

Demyx's head was spinning. "I knew I would never survive fighting him," he told Yuffie, and he wasn't sure if it were a fact or a revelation. All he knew was that he didn't feel well, and he wanted to go home, but home didn't exist. "You really think  _I_  could have taken him out?"

She floundered. "But say you had. Say you had been able to take out Sora. Without him…" She hissed. "You tried to destroy my home and I can never forgive that."

He fought against the nausea. In the distance, he could hear a recorded voice on a PA system broadcasting that only civilians with permits could be out past curfew.

"Get out of here," she said.

"What would you do, arrest me?" He snapped back, but the response was weak. "Don't you people need me?" He asked her retreating form.

"Fuck off," she responded without looking back.

Demyx couldn't process the interaction. Part of his mind was struggling to put together what had happened moments before his death. He walked back uptown, towards the castle, in the dying light.

The mission card, Xigbar, a smirk. Over half of them were dead by that point. A mounting body count and a sense of recklessness. The briefing about the sorceress and the Heartless, and how this was her way of luring them out, or them luring her out, or both. While they were at it they might as well destroy Sora and the resistance. Was the goal to destroy Sora? That was his mission, that's what he'd been told. But Demyx had just been… what… a distraction? His life had been used to buy time? Was that it?

Thinking about it hurt in a distinctly physical and different way. The battle was clear enough—Sora insisted on fighting, insisted that Nobodies had no right to exist—and the goring and the blood. The boy had been surprised that Demyx bled red, he remembered that. Sora had even paused for a moment before one of his obnoxious companions, the duck, spurred him on.  _He's just a Nobody._

No. No. He didn't want to think about this. Ripping. Breaking. He'd tried everything—everything to stop him—and once or twice he almost got him to back down. But Sora didn't stop. He didn't stop, he just kept going.

Keyblades weren't sharp. They were blunt. It took time.

Demyx threw up in the gutter. There was no actual blood but he could taste it anyway.

Was it his fault? If he had won, and the Heartless took over, would the deaths of all those people have been his fault? Or would he have just seen it as another victory, or as some more hearts towards the Kingdom Hearts (ha ha) that would make them whole? But he never thought he would win. He had been powerful but no match for Sora and his allies. Had Demyx gone there just to die? Had he wanted to end it?

He didn't know. He couldn't tell. That was the scary part. Now he wanted more than anything to live, but then? Tin soldier to a dying cause… had he really thought he would get his heart back? And then what, return to a probably dead world? He'd had no friends, and if he'd had family he couldn't remember them now, much less know if they were dead or alive… But if it had been suicide, why would he choose something so painful? He wasn't that loyal to the Organization. There were easier ways to die.

"Stop this," he said out loud to himself. "Stop this, stop it…"

He threw up again. It was mostly water and bile this time. He pressed a hand against the wall to steady himself.

"Hey, what are you doing all the way out here? It's almost dark." It wasn't the girl, but Lea. Demyx only caught half an eyeful of him before he saw the Keyblade ( _Keyblade!)_  and had to look away.

"Leave me alone," he said hoarsely.

"Are you… are you sick?" Lea moved to get closer, but Demyx held up a hand.

"I said stay away," he said.

Lea's eyes seemed to glow. "What happened to you?" The weapon was just sitting out there, between them. "Let me take you back to the castle."

"No," he hissed.

"You'll get attacked if I don't. Come on. I won't hurt you. I won't…" he seemed to put two and two together and looked down at blade in his hand. "Is that what's got you out of sorts?"

Demyx shook his head. "It's…"

The Keyblade disappeared with a flash and the chakrams came back out. "Let's go. And don't pass out on me again, okay? There's already too much going on."

It was all he could do to follow along meekly.


	6. Persistence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx dreams of a figure in a black coat and wonders if that person tampered with his reformation. The committee seeks to prepare him for work on the town.

VI.

Persistence

Demyx was tired of making them take care of him. Lea didn't tell Ienzo or Even that he was sick, and he preferred to keep it that way. Especially since he knew he wasn't  _actually_  sick.

He wasn't sure how to feel or what to think. His thoughts jumbled together. Why was this coming so vividly  _now_? The fight wasn't all of it, either; something else lingered underneath that he couldn't quite grasp. All he could see in his mind's eye was darkness.

He went to bed early, worn out and mixed up, and fell asleep soon after.

* * *

Darkness and rain. The water fell directly into his eyes but he couldn't blink or even turn his head. The only think he could see were thick tendrils of darkness, wrapping over his head in smooth arcs.

There was no pain, which was odd, all things considering; just a heavy cold numbness. He couldn't breathe, even though he desperately needed to. He heard the air passing into his mouth in big ragged gasps, but it didn't reach his lungs. Did he even have lungs right now? Maybe they were somewhere on the ground next to him. He didn't know. He didn't think fading would take this long.

The sky started to move and there was the itchy sensation of being dragged. _Thump thump thump. Thump thump thump._  His body scraped against the ground.

A black hood looked down at him.

Darkness again.

* * *

Early-morning sunlight glinted directly into Demyx's eyes. The light and a tense achy pain in his chest woke him up, and for a long while he lay on his side with the hard mattress pressing into his bony hips.

_What_ was that?  _Who_ was that? And should he say anything? Maybe… maybe it had just been an Organization member watching him go down… one who had arrived too late to do anything… or maybe they hadn't wanted to save him at all and were just checking that he was out of the picture.

He got out of bed. Showered. Got dressed. Went to the kitchen to eat something. His head was full of static. Demyx found Ienzo sitting at the small cracked table with a cup of tea.

"Good morning," he said. "You're up early."

"I slept early," he replied dazedly.

"Where did you go yesterday?"

Demyx spread peanut butter onto some bread without toasting it. "Aerith told me I could visit and I wanted to get out of here."

A pause. "It would be good for you to make some friends."

He remembered the interaction with Yuffie and shook his head. "Yeah. Sure."

"Is everything all right, Nine?"

He sat and pushed the bread around and around the plate. He knew he should eat but had no appetite. "Who found me?" He asked without making eye contact. "When I reformed?"

Ienzo traced the rim of his mug. "Why is it you ask?"

"I want to know." Demyx started to systematically rip the crusts off of the half-stale bread. The peanut butter tasted like glue in his mouth. "Someone had to have done it, or I wouldn't be here."

Ienzo gave him an inquisitive look. "It was Aeleus, on one of our first days back," he said. "He found you in the courtyard and brought you back. You had almost bled out; you were so pale your skin was yellow like wax. Had he found you even ten minutes later, we might have lost you for good."

"…And was he…" he tried to swallow down the bread but his mouth was too dry. Demyx got up and poured himself a glass of water, and then he drank it all down. His hands shook. "When he was out scouting, was he wearing an Organization coat?"

A long, long minute passed. Demyx could hear the little clock on the wall ticking and, below that, his own heart racing.

"Nine," Ienzo said slowly. "What are you talking about?"

"On my way back from visiting Aerith, I think I remembered something," he said. His voice trembled. "Um, I remembered when I fought Sora, and then… I think I remembered when I reformed. I saw someone standing over me. Someone in a black coat."

Ienzo's expression went from curious to blank. "Are you positive it was an Organization cloak?"

"Well… yes," he said. "I saw the beading, the zippers."

"Do you think it might be possible that you were hallucinating?"

Demyx spread his hands. "You don't believe me," he said.

"I think you were in a compromised state. I think that, between the physical and mental trauma, you may have corroborated a few things."

He slammed his hands on the table, causing the plates to jump. Ienzo didn't even flinch. A sticky anger filled his throat. " _You_  were the one who told me that something tampered with my reformation! Maybe that was me remembering who did it!"

"You may be right," he said with a maddening calm. "But we have to acknowledge that your memory isn't exactly reliable."

"So what, do you think I made it up?" He couldn't believe this. He felt sick to his core.

"That's not what I'm saying." Ienzo took a drink. "Do you know who did it? Did you see their face?"

"No. I just saw the hood."

"Did you recognize their gait?" he leveled. "Do you remember anything distinguishable?"

Demyx tried to think. His head was aching already. He pored through the dim memories, but all he saw was the gaping cave of the hood. "…Not right now," he said.

"There was never any doubt that it had something to do with Xehanort," Ienzo said. "We weren't sure why he would have struck you _,_  or why he would have done so in this manner. We still need to figure out why, and how, so we can prevent it from happening again."

"He was always trying to get rid of me," Demyx said. "Especially at the very end."

"But it's good for you that you were not obedient," Ienzo said. He had the balls to smile. "Or else you would have been one of the true vessels."

"Why did you save me?" He asked.

"Did you expect us to let you die?"

Demyx didn't know what to say about that. "I don't know. Maybe. You all hated me."

Ienzo said nothing for a long moment. He adjusted his ascot. "That's not true," he said at last.

"Isn't it?" He felt like he was falling even though his butt was firmly in his chair. "I mean… I've been… nothing but a burden since day one. And, like... I don't know. I don't know." He looked down at the chipped plate in front of him.

Another long minute of silence. Ienzo kept staring at him, which made it worse. "Do you feel that way now?"

The sense of mollification only worsened. How was he supposed to answer that? Yes, that he hated being treated like a child? That he didn't understand why they were deliberately keeping things from him? He shrugged, trying hard not to cry.

Ienzo nodded once. "Things are complicated now, Nine. None of us hold any ill will towards you." A pause. "I'm sorry you might feel that way."

"Look… I just…" The blood was rushing in his ears. "I just want to know what's going on? And nobody will tell me? Like. How much do you  _really_  know about what's happening to me?"

He pursed his lips. "Nine—"

"My name is Demyx." He'd meant for the words to have some bite, but as he was on the verge of tears they withered. He picked up his plate and put it in the sink. "I'll see you at the meeting later."

He made his way down to the labyrinthine corridors to the library. He didn't want to stay there for too long—there was too much chance of someone else showing up—but he figured this was the best place to try and find what he wanted.

Except that the library had no sense of organization whatsoever. There was a card catalog, but nothing was in its right place. Demyx searched blindly, frustration mounting, until the titles on the spines of his books were nothing more than shimmering spiraling words.

"Looking for something?"

The voice startled him so badly that he yelped in surprise. He clutched his chest.

"I do apologize," Dilan said silkily. "You seemed so very… focused."

Demyx turned to face him. Dilan had one of his lances slung over his shoulder. The sudden adrenaline made him a little shaky. "I can't find anything," he said haltingly.

"Yes, that restoration committee really did a number on the collection, looking for the reports." He shifted the lance from one shoulder to the other. "And we have far too much going on to spend the time rearranging."

"What do you guys  _do_?" Demyx asked.

"Damage control," Dilan said. "Somebody's got to try and make this castle habitable. Who do you think keeps the power running, the walls upright? This place is utterly decrepit." He smirked. "I suppose that will be your next assignment, eh? Now that you're feeling well?"

"I… guess." He wasn't sure whether to feel anxious or relieved about his impending work.

"So what is it you're looking for? Perhaps I might be of assistance. I seem to be in here often enough."

"Well…" he bit his lip. "I was hoping that I might find something that would teach me about music. Even like an encyclopedia or something."

Dilan raised an eyebrow. "I had heard," he said. "I'm… sorry. I know this must be quite difficult for you."

_Like you care._  They'd roomed close to one another in the Organization, so naturally there had been a bit of tension when he'd wanted to practice and when Xaldin had wanted to sleep. "Yeah, well, at least I won't keep you up anymore," he said lamely.

Dilan shrugged. "There is always a price, is there not?"

* * *

This meeting went about as well as the last one, though thankfully this time Demyx did not have a panic attack. He tried to listen attentively, but he did not want to think about people dying in gruesome ways.

Maybe it was because she was sitting across from him (glaring daggers all the while), but Demyx thought back to his conversation with Yuffie. All this talk about death, about people becoming Heartless… how much was he really responsible for? How much could he be excused from? Thinking about it put a bitter seed of shame in his stomach which was almost unbearable.

The topic moved from endless discussions about the inevitable battle with the vessels to current issues with the town. Demyx  _did_  think it was strange that they were all working together now for the common good. He didn't say anything, just nodded his head when expected, until their leader, Leon, gestured to him.

"The sooner we can get you started, the better," he said. "Especially with the summer drought coming."

"Okay," Demyx said. He could say no, but then he would look like an even bigger jerk. They all needed water to drink.

"We should like a few days to prepare," Ienzo said. "Bluntly, we're not even sure that Nine  _can_  use his powers. I would hate to push it and cause more damage."

"I'm sure we can get things in order," Even cut in. "I will work with the boy. Our abilities are most similar in nature."

_That_  was the last thing he expected to hear. Training with Aeleus might have been peaceful, but training with Even would probably be just short of torture. His displeasure must have showed on his face because Even added,

"Nine, I must politely ask you to grow up. Or do you still have an unfortunate aversion to hard work?"

Yuffie laughed out loud. Aerith nudged her. "Don't be rude," she whispered.

"…Then it's settled," Leon said slowly. "That's a relief, at least."

The conversation drifted to other subjects, but Demyx didn't process much, too busy dreading what would happen next.

* * *

He was woken brutally early the next morning.  _It fucking begins._

"Get dressed and come on," Even barked, and slammed the door behind him.

Demyx sat up blearily. It was still dark out; the clock on his bedside table indicated that it was 4:30 in the morning. He groaned.

Even popped his head in. "I do mean  _now_ ," he said. "We have a lot to do."

Once he was dressed they set off at a brisk pace. Demyx expected Even to take him to the makeshift gym, but they proceeded right out of the castle without eating or even drinking.

"Where are we going?" He might have been stronger than before but he found it difficult to keep up with Even's pace.

"You will see," Even said. "I should like to get there before it's light."

They walked right into town through the massive hole in the Bailey. The light was getting gray now, so it was a little easier to see. Demyx's throat was dry and his early-morning hunger was becoming real hunger, but he had a feeling that none of these needs would be satisfied any time soon. He sighed.

They followed the rocky path deep into the crystal fissures. Without the light to make them shine, the crystals were massive dull monoliths. It was in this small cavern that Even sat and gestured for Demyx to do the same. He shut the small lantern he'd carried, leaving them in pitch darkness. Wasn't he concerned about Heartless?

"What do you hear?" Even asked in a low voice.

"Well…" not much. Their combined breathing, still slightly elevated from the brisk walk. His own stomach, growling quietly but insistently. A weak burst of wind whistling through the cavern.

"Listen closer," he suggested.

Demyx tried, feeling a little silly as he did so. He held his breath. At the very edge of his hearing, so low he thought he might be making it up, he heard a rumbling.

"Thousands upon thousands of years ago, all of this rock was covered by the ocean," Even said. "There is still fresh water deep below the surface. The minerals that ocean left behind formed these crystals."

"So… why did you bring me here?" By that point the sun had started to creep into the cavern. The crystals lit up, reflecting the orange and pink rays, in a way that was so beautiful he forgot everything else for just a moment. Until Even spoke.

"Because, by the end of today, you'll bring that water to the surface. We'll leave then and only then. Not before."


	7. Renewed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx tries to recover his powers, and in the process remembers something important.

VII.

Renewed

"Again."

He was tired. No, that wasn't the word for it. Exhausted, gross, frustrated beyond belief; Demyx wasn't sure how much more he could take of this. "It's not going to work. We've been at this for hours." The sun was high in the sky, and it was especially hot outside of the cavern in the rocky expanse. He hadn't yet had anything to eat or drink all day, and it seemed like the dryness in his mouth was soul-deep.

"Was I unclear, Nine? Again." Even gestured with his shield again. "If I did not think it was possible, would I be wasting our time?"

That was the closest thing to encouragement he'd heard yet. Between the heat and the strain—which in itself was odd, physically he wasn't doing much more than standing—he felt slightly faint. Maybe if he blacked out he could give up. But knowing Even, he would just revive him and force him to continue on; if so just to see what would happen.

Demyx tried to do what he wanted. The task itself was simple; strike the shield with water. But between his old injuries, his discomfort, the sheer dryness of the area and the heat of the day, it was almost impossible. Demyx wasn't drawing water out of thin air. It  _was_  there, hundreds of meters below ground. He couldn't say there hadn't been any progress made. He hadn't been able to feel that body of water before coming here, and now he could. The distant odd tingling just made him antsy.

Part of the problem came from the fact that he had never been  _taught_  to use his powers originally; he just sort of had, instinctively and effortlessly, like moving a hand. He'd been taught how to use other unrelated spells, but this? He knew it had something to do with some sort of pull, that there was some sort of accompanying pressure he would be able to feel. But for Demyx it had always been hard to manually wield water without the presence of his sitar, and who knew if—or when—she would return. He lowered his hands.

"Unless you are in unbearable pain, we must continue," Even said.

"I can't do this." The words fell at his feet. "Look, we've been trying, but what if I just can't get my powers back? What if they're like my memories, and they're just gone?" The agitation was as hot and sticky as the sweat on his skin.

"Your memories are returning. Therefore, your powers must be able to return as well. It's simple logic that I believe even you are capable of." Even let his shield disappear and approached him. A crystal of ice appeared in his palms. "Hold this."

He let the crystal fall into Demyx's bare hands. It was frigid—far below freezing—and even in the heat it burned. He gasped out loud.

"Don't drop it."

"Or what?" Demyx asked.

Even seized his wrists. For an old man, he was surprisingly strong. "Feel the weight of it, the composition. Water is not much different. You are in pain. You are uncomfortable, frustrated. Use that frustration to feel out the shape of the molecule. Use the water in your own body, your own blood. I should not have to  _tell_  you these things!"

The ice was so cold that his eyes were watering. He focused on the pain, trying to listen to his body and his blood and all the other bullshit.

"Do you want to get frostbite?" Even snapped. "You don't have much time."

He was starting to feel feverish and dizzy. He swooned but did not fall; Even's grip prevented that. His voice sounded far away; he could still feel his hands burning.

"Good. Nine, follow it. Follow it and do not let go."

He wasn't in the fissures anymore, but in some sort of space that was made out of nothing at all, not even darkness. He drifted through it, not sure what to look for or what to  _follow_ , exactly. Something burned. He traced the source of the pain; it ran deeper than he'd anticipated. There were no shapes, no items, not even feelings or memories, but at some point Demyx bumped into something smooth and elastic. He reached for it and pulled, but it fought back. It didn't want to come with him and stung where he touched it. He pulled harder. Dug in his heels. He threw his whole being into it.

It snapped and he flew back into consciousness. He fell against Even. His lungs were burning and he struggled for air.

His hands were wet.

He looked down. There were white splotches on his palms from the ice, but he saw on the ground through dizzy eyes a puddle of water. He met Even's eyes, tasting nausea more than feeling it.

"Acceptable," he said.

"Can I take a break? Please?"

Even assented, and lowered him to the ground.

Demyx put his head in his hands. His hands were no longer hurting; in fact the skin was completely healed. His whole body was cramping. So much was flickering through him all at once. His powers were back. His powers were  _back._  It was something he just knew. It was fact.

But because they were back it didn't mean things were easy.

Like a muscle, if powers were unused they became weak. He had to build his strength.

The rest of the afternoon they worked tirelessly. Demyx picked things up at a rapid clip, but it was all so much  _harder_  than it used to be. He could find and draw from local water sources. Most painstaking was learning how to manipulate it. Before, with his sitar, he'd barely had to do more than think of what he wanted before it happened, whereas now he struggled to get the water into a ball.

Not only that, but all the other subsidiary benefits of his powers had yet to return. Before, his powers had kept him consistently hydrated unless he was seriously injured or wounded. He'd been able to keep himself cool in warm environments, breathe underwater, and neutralize most toxins. But today… none of that seemed to apply.

Even finally allowed him to call it the end of the day when the sunlight started to turn pink. "You've made astounding progress," he said, and he actually smiled.

He was faint from hunger and exhaustion, but at the same time he wanted to keep pushing himself.  _I'm almost onto something. I know it._

Even patted his shoulder. "I think you need to rest," he said. "After all, there's still work to be done."

Food, water, and a shower improved things dramatically. He fell almost immediately deeply asleep. There were more fragments of things, but there was no death and no fire.

A woman singing a song in a language he could not understand. It was a lullaby—a nocturne. She was the blonde/brunette/redhead. He held her hand and looked way, way up at her. They walked through the tall grass together.

Night. An open bright sky and more stars than anyone could imagine. The smell of wool. Being warm. Being safe.

The word came to him before he was even fully conscious. Maybe he said it as he woke up.

_Mom?_

Nobody answered. His room was empty and small. Moreover, Demyx hurt all over.

Was that really…

Of course, he knew he hadn't sprung out of thin air. He had to have been born. But for some reason… he had never thought of having parents. Had never thought of being close to them. The woman he'd seen had been his mother. He got the idea that they'd been going somewhere. But where?

A deep bittersweetness filled him from head to toe. He found he didn't mind the soreness as he got up; it suited his mood. No dad, or other mom, or siblings. He was pretty sure that was how it had been. Pretty sure. But he couldn't be totally certain, and that was annoying. An itch he couldn't scratch.

Today Even didn't make him leave so horribly early, and he let him have breakfast. "You had to be under a good deal of stress," he explained to Demyx, who was hardly listening. "Not unduly so, but if you were comfortable and content there was no way you'd be willing to dig deep. You had to appeal to—ah—more primal reasoning."

Whatever. Wasn't too much stress supposed to be  _bad_  for him and all?

"I admit I was a bit dubious," he said. "But… you exceeded my expectations. And you are in one piece. It looks like Ienzo was wrong."

What did that even mean? "Wrong about what?"

"He believed that pushing you in that way could aggravate your… ah… condition." They stepped outside. "Your memories have been returning with very few ill effects. I had reason to believe that this would  _help_  you instead of hurt you. He disagreed."

"Did he," Demyx said dryly. "You guys talk about me an awful lot, huh."

Even's eyes gleamed. "It's fascinating to us, as scientists. And of course we want you to be whole."

He shrugged. "Sure."

"I admit I was pessimistic, at first. And there is still a good deal of risk involved. But I think that you might just be all right." The mathematical glee with which he said it made Demyx uncomfortable.

"Can we… change the subject?"

In terms of effort and fatigue that day and the next three were more or less the same. He  _was_  getting better—using his powers was getting easier—but at the end of the day he was incredibly tired and when he slept he was dead to the world. By the end of the week Demyx was in considerably better shape; he could manipulate the water with ease, though he definitely had limits. There was no limitless energy like there had been before. He was pretty sure that any use of his power burned straight from his metabolism, making him drained and weak after a while. Ethers helped, but they were expensive and using too many at once made him sick.

After that he didn't have much more of an excuse. He had to get to work for the committee. They sent a message for him and told him to meet one of them at the main entrance to the castle. He packed himself a small lunch and felt a lot like a little kid going to school.  _Now play nice with the others, and make friends,_  he imagined someone telling him. Doubtful that he would. He wouldn't mind working with Aerith, but if he got stuck with Yuffie…

Most of the time they used the service entrance, and early that first morning Demyx had to fight his way to the actual front. He got lost a few times. There was a map, but the map couldn't account for fallen pipes and collapsed passages. He was running considerably later than he'd intended when he finally got there and found Leon with a toolbox. Already the other man looked exasperated.

"I'm sorry," Demyx said breathlessly. "The castle is really a mess, and I got lost…"

"It's all right," Leon said tersely. "You're ready? Let's go." Demyx followed him into an older and decrepit part of town. "Nobody's lived here for over ten years," he explained. "When the world fell to darkness, a lot of the town was damaged or destroyed. You'll be working mostly on aqueducts and the reservoir. You'll most likely be working with someone else. The two of you will make any physical fixes you can, and then you can reroute the water sources. We might have to construct them from the ground up. It really depends. Cid's trying to put together a map now of places we know we can work with."

He nodded. "So… like… you must think it's interesting. Working with old Organization members," he said, as an attempt at conversation.

"I have no reason to distrust any of you. You've all been very helpful." But no change in his expression. "But I guess it's interesting, yes."

He shrugged. "Well, I was just wondering, because I know that… others… might not be as okay with it."

The shadow of a smile. "I'm guessing Yuffie talked to you?"

Demyx shrugged.

"We can't exactly afford to be picky about our allies," Leon said at last. "And don't worry about her. She won't actually hurt you. She'll come around." He looked out towards the staircase they'd just come down. "In fact, there she is now."


	8. First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx has to learn to work with Yuffie, who still blames him for endangering the town during the Thousand Heartless battle.

VIII.

First Day

Demyx only barely stopped himself from saying "Oh, you've  _got_  to be kidding me," out loud. If Leon noticed his frustration, he didn't say anything.

Yuffie also had a scowl on her face when she got closer. "Squall, I swear to—"

He held up a hand. "Yuffie, you really need to grow up. You said you wanted a break from patrol. Well, here it is." He crossed his arms. "In order for this to work you have to get along. I fully expect you to  _be civil._  You are both adults. Now act like it."

She snorted. "Yeah, alright."

They all went together to the first site, an aqueduct to the far side of town. The pipes and pump were broken, and as a result the water source was hundreds of meters belowground. Demyx could feel the distant humming in his bones; it didn't help his growing dread. He would rather do a lot of things than spend a whole day with someone who wanted him dead.

Once Leon was gone, they both stared up at the top of the aqueduct rather than look at each other. The stone was crumbling in places, and the green paint was washed out and chipped.

After a long moment, he tried to quell his racing heart. Demyx's palms were sweaty, and it wasn't just from the warm day. He dried them on his jeans. "So, uh," he began.

"I really don't want to talk to you," she said. She popped off a metal maintenance panel of the first pump and looked at the machinery. He saw the small set of hydraulics and wiring. With a bit more violence than was really necessary, she used a wrench to pry out the corroded pieces and yanked out the rotted wiring. "Just do whatever you're supposed to."

"I mean I don't really  _know_  what I'm supposed to do."

She rolled her eyes and pulled some new pipes out of the toolbox. "Of course not."

"Look, I'm not happy about this either—" He felt the blood rising in his face. "But maybe we should listen to Leon?"

She scoffed. She clipped the ends of the wires where they were broken. He wasn't sure of the state of the power. If she wasn't careful she could really hurt herself.

"Um," he said. "You've been trained how to do this, right?"

Yuffie huffed. "What, do you think I'm stu— _fuck._ " She'd slipped with her wire cutters. She shook out her hand.

"…Cut yourself?" He asked.

"I'll cut something, alright," she said. She took off her wrist brace. The blood had already begun to well in her palm.

Demyx almost didn't want to ask. "Are you okay?"

" _Fine._ "

He reached out. One thing he had recovered was an ability to heal. "Let me see it."

She took a step back. "You're not touching me."

"I can  _fix_  it."

"It doesn't  _need_  to be fixed."

He paused. "That's kind of bleeding a lot."

She studied it with an impassive expression. Red splotched onto the ground. "I'll go to Aerith. I don't trust you."

"And waste time going all the way back to town? Let me see it."

She glared at him. After a long moment, she turned her gaze away. "Fucking  _fine._ "

Demyx took her hand. Without the brace it was small, but strong and heavily callused. The cut fit right against her lifeline. He gathered some water in his hand, held it over the palm, and began to heal the damaged tissue. She flinched and jerked but did not take her hand away. It was a beautiful heal, he had to say; there wasn't even any scar. But she did not thank him. She tugged her brace back on and picked the wrench back up.

It took her about an hour to fix the pump. In the meantime he reached for the water underneath. He expected there to be a certain amount of blockage—either by fallen stone or other debris—and he wasn't wrong. It felt like plant matter or something otherwise light; it took him a while to draw it up because it required a lot of water pressure in the small stone pipe. Demyx was able at last to clear the way; by that point his stamina was about gone. He didn't want her to know that he was tired. His knees were shaking.

With a final crank of the wrench the tiny pump started moving again. "That should work," she said brusquely. "Well, don't just stand there, be useful."

Demyx tried. The water fought him, almost like it knew he was tired, and he felt a stinging pain in his arm muscles.  _How am I supposed to do this all day?_

They moved onto the next one in silence. He preferred the quiet to the antagonism, but he could feel Yuffie simmering and often she cut glares at him. They followed the same routine—thankfully this one was a little easier on him, though there were more mechanical problems—and broke for lunch. He sat facing the town, legs dangling above a ground hundreds of meters below. He found he didn't mind the height. Demyx expected Yuffie to stay far away from him, but she surprised him by sitting only a few meters away, eating takeout noodles from a plastic container.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" She said neutrally, and gestured to the town.

He could see the moldering old castle and the blue rock in the distance. He guessed that it could be conjectured by some as beautiful, but he felt nothing towards the town other than a gaping homesickness. "I guess." He had nothing more to eat and wasn't sure what to do with himself.

"Funny how close it was to being gone forever, huh," she added.

He got the message. She was not trying to be friendly. "Look," he said, wondering if he should say this when so close to a ledge. "I know I've done some bad things. And I know my actions are not excusable, et cetera, whatever. But it looks like we have to work together for who knows how fucking long, so can. You. Not."

A moment of silence. She did not look angry. Demyx didn't know how to interpret the look on her face.

"To be fair…"  _Why was he still talking_ , "We've all done our fair share of shitty things, but I'm over it and I'm just trying to move on with my life, what's left of it. So leave me alone. Or at least  _shut up_  about it."

They stared at each other a long moment. Yuffie wore that same odd expression. Her eyes, he noticed for the first time, were not brown like he thought, but a dark shade of violet. She didn't look away, so he didn't want to either. His eyes were starting to water from not blinking. She broke the staring contest first and turned away, nose in the air.

"You're pathetic," she said.

Demyx tried to come up with some quick reply, like,  _well you're not a whole lot better,_  or something in that vein. The comment got to him in a way that he couldn't quite define. Because she was absolutely right.

He picked up the scraps of his lunch and tucked them back into the small bag he'd brought. He felt her gauging his reaction. It wasn't that he couldn't take an insult—oh boy, he could, he knew from experience—but that phrase had dredged up a forgotten stickiness.  _Fuck. Not now. Please._  He gripped the wall for support, trying to play it casual, but firecrackers of pain were exploding behind his eyes. Demyx had to stay conscious. He couldn't afford to lose his shit. He could do that later, in the privacy of his own room in the weighty loneliness of the castle.

A cramped city, dingy and old, something with wooden parapets. He clung to consciousness, clung to the now, leading to a strange sense of doubled-vision. Bright banners. Sullen people, fast-moving crowds, being chased by… who? Or what? Not Heartless. This was human.

"We should get a move on," he heard Yuffie bark.

Humans. More than one, less than a few. Older than him but only by a little. He was not alone, he was in a group. Being chased for… stealing? Not food, though there was hunger.

Demyx no longer saw Yuffie's face. It was like the ground had been ripped up from under him. The sharpness of the pain worsened. He wasn't fast enough. He got grabbed up by the ankle. A knife that was cold and shimmery. Getting dangled above the first level of the city. Something about a punishment for dirty thieves. The necessary epithet, "You're pathetic." And then being dropped.

He did not regain consciousness before he hit the ground in the memory. He felt it all in stunning technicolor, ripping through a banner that saved him but only barely, flopping still too far onto the ground. Bones broken, in total: three ribs, the left radius and ulna, a fractured skull, and a femur. Lying there, disoriented and unable to breathe, just in time for the police to arrive.

Waking up for real because of a stinging slap. She'd actually hit him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Demyx's body seemed too heavy for him. He sat down and put his head in his hands. His cheek burned from her slap. "I don't know what they  _told_  you." He spoke like he'd never heard words before. "My memories—"

"Yes, I know, I was told.  _Your fucking memories._ "

"Quit yelling."

"I'm not yelling."

She wasn't. Now he had a real world migraine, bright and needy, rendering daylight into sharp arrows of pain. "I need a minute," he said, and to his horror his voice quavered.

"We've already wasted enough time."

"Shut up," Demyx said. He tried to breathe through the pain and get his body to heal it away. He focused on nothing at all and held his breath until it started to recede. He took a long drink of water. He wanted to try and figure out what he'd seen, but he couldn't do that with her breathing down his neck. "What's… what's next? Where do we have to go?"

"Towards one of the pumps in the south."

He stood on shaky legs. "Then let's go."

* * *

Home at last.

The castle had never been so welcoming before. At least it was quiet. His head was hurting again. Demyx just wanted to lie down and sleep; he felt the exhaustion all the way down to his bones. He wasn't sure he could do this, day in and day out. Something had to give. Maybe if he talked to Leon about it—

And then what? Give her the satisfaction of knowing she'd gotten to him? He would have to get stronger with time. At least, he hoped.

The walk back to his room seemed particularly long and his body dragged him down. He didn't want to stop and rest for fear that he would be unable to get up. His eyes were hot and sore with fatigue. He idly traced a hand down the molding of the hallway.

Up ahead he saw a previously collapsed passage had been cleared, leaving behind a raw tunnel of pure earth. Aeleus must have been here earlier today. Compared with the delicate architecture of the rest of the castle, it seemed like a gaping maw, but according to the map, it would get him back faster.

As he passed through the halls, he heard voices. Aeleus must still be working. Demyx didn't mind talking to Aeleus, mostly because there was absolutely no pressure to say anything, so he decided to keep on walking through.

Dilan and Aeleus were working in tandem, with Aeleus clearing the debris and fixing the supports and Dilan managing all the dirt and dust. "Well, if it isn't our little maintenance man," Dilan said smoothly. There was a shattering  _crack_  as Aeleus cut some of the rock; Demyx flinched. "What was it like, working for the committee?"

He debated, and decided that Dilan would probably enjoy hearing about his misadventures. "Oh, it was just  _great_. I'm exhausted and my partner treats me like a pariah."

"So, basically another day on the job, eh?"

Demyx rolled his eyes, and then paused. "I guess so, now that you mention it."

With another  _crack_  the passage was cleared. Sweat dripped down Aeleus's face, and he swiped at it absently. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine. Just tired."

"Glad to know you're about in fighting shape," Dilan said. "Heaven knows you might need to be."

Demyx blinked. "What?"

"I could use rest as well," Aeleus said. "Once I secure this spot, I say we all go eat." He stomped and pressed his hands against the wall. The earth shifted and shuddered above them. Demyx swallowed, but nothing more than a faint trickle of dust came down. "That should do it."

"Very nice work," Dilan said condescendingly. "Though it's a shame about the architecture. What lovely hand-carved molding."

"If you want artistry, you work on it yourself," Aeleus said blankly.

There was something familiar about going back with them. Like Dilan had said, it was like the old days, though they were all different. They had good intentions now, or at least, Demyx hoped they did. He was fairly sure that none of them meant any harm. But at the same time, minus Xemnas (Xehanort, whatever, whomever), could they all make the jump to "good" so quickly? What about everything they'd done—the Heartless, the manipulation, the controlled takeovers? The casualties that had to come with all that? The trauma they'd inflicted to others? A lump stuck in his throat.

And what good were they actually doing? Giving people water and fixing up the town seemed like something good. Still, Demyx didn't exactly feel satisfied with his day's work. Maybe it was because Xehanort was looming, but it seemed odd to him that they hadn't really moved on with their lives like they used to anticipate they would. Then again, some of them had spent nearly eleven years in the Organization, so maybe there wasn't even much to move on  _with_. Ienzo and Demyx might have been younger and able to forage a new path, hypothetically, but the others? What did they have left?

And what about Lea? Demyx hadn't seen hide or hair from him in a long time. "Where is Lea?" he asked them.

"Off gallivanting with that Keyblade, I'd wager," Dilan said. " _Loves_  playing the hero. It's kind of ironic."

"He's repenting," Aeleus said, but like usual he didn't expound upon that thought.

"Aren't we all," Dilan said dryly.

"It's different, for him."

"Well,  _believing_  hard enough isn't going to stop the enemy," Dilan continued. "And with the way this is all going… who knows?"

"Is it bad?" Demyx asked. Part of him really didn't want to know.

"How can it be  _good_?" Dilan turned to face him. His black braids were caked with rock and dust. "How can it be good when we have an enemy who can see three steps ahead of us at all times? It's the most we can do to survive. Might be best to quit while we're ahead."

"We must survive," Aeleus said. "It's all to do."

"Right you are. I don't suppose  _you_  have any opinions on the matter?"

Demyx thought. "Aeleus is right. I just want to live. But I… I can't fight him. I don't even know if I can help."

"I'm sure you have something valuable to contribute."

"That's not what I meant," Demyx said. "I don't want to get sucked in again. Not now that I have a choice."

That stunned Dilan into silence. Finally, Aeleus said, "I suppose that's a wise thought."

* * *

Night and the sleep of the dead. He was down for the count for about twelve hours, and woke up disoriented. He half expected to wake up in his bed at the Organization's castle. But no, he was only in the small room on the small hard bed in Radiant Garden.

He went through his morning routine. He needed to do laundry. (When you only had four shirts you did an awful lot of laundry.) He was so tired so early in the morning that he struggled with the coffee percolator for a quarter of an hour, and then finally decided it would probably just be easier to shell out a few precious munny in town. Demyx shouldn't be late anyway. Well, what did it matter? Yuffie was going to be mad at him late or early.

But when he got to the spot they'd agreed upon yesterday he found Cid in her place. "I hope you brought some for me," he said when he saw the cup in Demyx's hand.

"…Didn't think of it," he answered lamely. But he was relieved. He could only hope this new arrangement would be permanent. Before he could even finish the thought, Cid added,

"I'm only with you for today. There was a pretty bad surge last night. You know, of Heartless. Yuffie's injured pretty bad. She and Leon both."

Like he cared. Still, he felt an involuntary swell of concern. Probably more for Leon. "Will they be okay?"

"They're in good hands. I've seen a lot of gross stuff, but nothing Aerith can't fix." He adjusted his goggles and leaned in. "Once I even saw her reattach a hand. It was amazing. Kid had full coordination and everything. Within an hour she was out playing again."

Demyx shuddered. "There's no risk for them, you know, to become…"

"Heartless?" Cid finished. "No, fortunately. Burns, more like, from one of them artificial types."

"…Oh."

"Well, look at us standing around gossiping. Let's get to work."

Another long, exhausting morning. Demyx thought he should probably talk to someone about why he was so damn tired. Maybe he was getting sick. Being stuck in the castle was like being in a vacuum, probably. Cid was pleasant and chatty and he could tell a great dirty joke, but Demyx felt weaker and weaker.

"Is there a bug going around town?" He finally braved himself into asking. "Like, a cold, the flu, something?"

Cid shrugged. "Not that I know of."

"Mind if I sit for a minute? Using my powers still wears me out."

"Go right ahead." Cid pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. "I had quit for a long time, but right now it's been so stressful that this is the only thing that helps." He offered the pack to Demyx.

He took one. The taste was different than he remembered, but the burn in his lungs was soothing and he felt a little better.

"Didn't picture you as a smoker," Cid said.

"Only every once in a while." He'd seen his fair share of party scenes as a member of the Organization—both voluntarily and because of reconnaissance. Mostly he just liked watching the people, the dancing, the music… he exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"You good, kid?"

"…Yeah. Just… thinking, that's all."

Demyx took another long drag and ground out the butt. The music. He had to start looking for the music.


	9. Sought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx is able to find a guitar and hopes that it'll lead him back to himself. The next day at work, he discovers something that could threaten the whole town.

IX.

Sought

"Are there any rooms in the castle full of junk?" Demyx asked Even over dinner.

He looked up from his notes. "May I ask why you want to know?"

"I'm… um… looking for something. I don't know. Maybe an instrument." It wasn't like he could afford to buy one, and even if he could it wasn't like any place around here sold any. Something simple, like a ukulele, or a harmonica… he had to start with the basics if he was going to work his way back up to sitar.

"Well, I highly doubt that you'd find anything like that. It's mostly old books, broken equipment, furniture, and so on. But, if you absolutely must, you can look all you like. It's not too far from the lab."

He went by himself. He wasn't sure at all what he was expecting, but the room was more the size of a small warehouse, piled practically floor to ceiling with  _stuff_. For the first hour he searched with a rabid sort of urgency; but Even was right, none of this stuff meant anything to him.

A prickling desperation crept down his spine and his search became more and more reckless as he pushed deeper into the cramped room. What would he do—what would he do if—?

Blearily, he slipped on some cloth on the ground and fell. On the way down, his elbow caught some glass and metal gizmo and it shattered on the ground next to him, leaving him with a handful of glass. Blood trickled down his palm. Demyx swore and tried to stand without further cutting himself. It was around then that he saw it, out of the corner of his eye—the familiar curve of a leather case.

Red splotches of blood fell to the floor. With his uninjured hand he reached through a gap between a massive cabinet and a rotting highboy for the case. It stuck in the small gap. He pulled harder and felt the glass through his clothes. He pushed the cabinet with his feet and tried to get it to budge just ten fucking centimeters, but with all the stuff next to it took a lot of strength. Finally he was able to squeeze the case though and it hit his chest with a hollow  _thunk._

Something warm dripped onto his leg; he remembered the stinging in his hand and healed it. Demyx hugged the case tight against his chest and inched away from the broken beaker, back towards the door. Bright tears of relief prickled in his eyes and, trembling with anticipation, he pried open the case just outside of the door.

He should have known. It  _was_  a guitar, but it was an absolute mess. The fingerboard was cracked almost in two and half of the tuning pegs were missing. There was not a single string to be found. The wood of the body had an odd texture to it, probably from repeatedly contracting and expanding in a room vulnerable to the elements. It felt like it might fall apart in his hands.

He gathered it gently and went to the library.

He found it hard to believe that there wasn't a single book on instrument repair. He expanded his search instead, looking for books on carving and wood crafting, and found a few things that might be helpful. And then just to be thorough he found a title about types of wood so he would know what the guitar was made of and how to deal with it.

Before he could even begin reading he had to find supplies, or at least stuff he could work with. Even with his fractured memories he was pretty sure he'd never had any type of expertise with this sort of thing. Whenever something had happened to his sitar, he'd just unsummoned it and when it came back, it was fixed. And any of the other little instruments he had, he'd just taken them to another world where there was someone who  _could_  fix it. He used to know anything and everything about the craft of sitars, but his knowledge about anything else was a bit more limited. And even the stuff about sitar was still vague and dreamlike, like trying to remember a name of an acquaintance met many years ago.

* * *

The next day he wanted to forage in the junk room again, but he had to work. The bitter relief of finding the guitar made him dread it a little less. At least he had something to look forward to, even if today was awful.

Demyx met Yuffie where he and Cid had left off yesterday. She was pale and, while he saw no scars, her skin was pink in places, especially across her neck. The words came out of his mouth before he was aware he was asking. "How are you feeling?"

She didn't glare; her expression was totally indifferent. She shifted the toolbox to her other hand, and by the way she twitched and rolled her shoulders he knew she was sore. "What's it to you?"

"It's called, you know, being a polite human being," he said. He crossed his arms.

"Polite, huh," Yuffie said. "Let's just get to work, mullet boy. I really don't feel like dealing with you today."

"Yeah? Well. The feeling's mutual."

They worked in silence, only speaking when absolutely necessary. Her voice was lower and less shrill, and he guessed that she was still feeling unwell. Demyx wasn't feeling so hot, either. Whatever energy that his new project had brought him had long since gone, and that bone deep exhaustion from yesterday was back with a vengeance. The water fought him harder than usual even though there was no physical resistance and made his arms burn. Was he losing his powers? Was that what this was?

"We should really try to hurry it up. We've got a lot to do," she said.

"This is harder than it looks," he said tersely. His vision started to swim and he let go of the water. "Whoa." He leaned against a wall.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Just… just…" There was something familiar about the burning in his muscles that he couldn't quite place a finger on.

"If you're tired, take an ether."

"It's not that. Shut up and let me think." But he couldn't, not with his head spinning like this. "This is a different water source than the one that goes directly to the town now, right?"

"Yeah. That's the point."

"Where  _is_  the source? I know it's underground, but is there a reservoir? Somewhere I can actually  _see_  it?" He tried to stand and stumbled.

"Uh, yeah. But why do you need to? You're just wasting time."

"I don't think so. Something's  _wrong_  with it." Demyx was able to get on his feet this time.

"Wrong with  _it_? Or wrong with  _you?_  Maybe your powers are just crappier than you thought." She crossed her arms.

"I really think we should go. Just—" He was about to say "trust me."

"And what if I don't want to?"

"Then give me the map and I'll go on my own."

She exhaled and gave him a good once over. " _Can_  you?"

He wasn't sure, but he wasn't about to let her know. "I'm fine."

Yuffie rolled her eyes. "Let's go so you can stop whining."

His legs were shaky and he struggled to keep up with her. He drank part of a potion he'd had, and that helped for a little while, but then it just got worse. Maybe—ugh—Yuffie was right and it  _was_  just him, and he was about to make himself look like a big asshole.

The reservoir was out of the way at the far back of the town, and the path that took them there was in perilous shape. Parts of the ground looked like they had been gouged out and most of the city walls had fallen, leaving behind jagged teeth of rock. More than once they had to climb and he really was losing all strength. Even if something was wrong with the water, he didn't have the energy to fix it.

The fountains and aqueducts immediately before the reservoir were all dry; mineral sand crunched under their feet, and it sparkled dully in the sun. Finally they got there. The purification system was massive and covered in splotches of rust. Several big vats sat corroding in the sunlight. They had once been covered with glass or something similar, but now all of it was broken. Demyx and Yuffie both looked down into the darkness, unable to really see anything, and she huffed in exasperation.

"There," she said. "Happy?"

He could  _feel_  something down there, but there was a cloying stickiness to the liquid that he couldn't place. His teeth were numb. He was sure he'd encountered it before… but his head was so foggy that he was having trouble keeping up. The water vapor below had an edge to it, almost like ammonia, but…

" _Shit,_ " he hissed.

Yuffie put her hands on her hips. "What's wrong this time?"

"The water… there's…" His words were slurring together. Demyx swallowed and tried to speak more clearly. He tried to let go of the elastic pressure the water had on him, but he couldn't separate it from his consciousness. It kept feeding. "There's…" He gripped the edge of the vat so as to not fall in and pressed a hand to his forehead. The burning in his muscles intensified.

"Spit it out," she said.

"It's…" It was singing through his blood. He had to let go of it. He had to, but by now this feel for water was an instinct and not something he could easily turn off. He had to get away, but his trembling knees gave out from under him, and he blacked out.

For a while he got half-hidden glimpses of consciousness. He was being dragged again across the cobbles— _thump thump thump, thump thump thump_ —and he remembered trying to talk to Yuffie to tell her. "I have… I have to…" he kept slipping in and out. Getting picked up by a black coat with a red kerchief. His blood was ringing with it. They had to know. Someone had to know—

Demyx woke up aching from the inside out. His stomach churned and he crouched over the side of the bed retching. Nothing came up; he would get no relief.

Someone had to know. But what was it they had to know? He pressed a hand to his forehead—he still felt like he was spinning—and tried to remember. He muttered under his breath as if that might help.

Demyx could feel everything.

His power extended beyond his reach like a web. The water in the pipes of the castle buzzed all around and above him. It scratched his skin. Even more irritating was the blood in everyone's veins; mostly water but not quite there, he could sense them. The fluid rushed in Demyx's ears. He was sure this had never happened before—using the full limit of his powers involuntarily—not as a Nobody, not in the Organization. It was an immense strain on his whole being. He tried to pull the web back but to no avail.

Someone came to the door—Demyx sensed them before they entered. The pressure radiated all the way down into his lungs and he couldn't breathe—

"Nine. Nine, are you alright?" Ienzo took a step towards him and the pressure increased. Demyx clutched at the sheets.

"I can't—" He forced the words through his teeth. "It hurts, it's ripping—"

Ienzo took him by the shoulder and forced his chin up. "What's going on? What did you remember?"

Ienzo's proximity made him dry-heave. He heard through muddled ears Ienzo yelling for someone to get Even, but Ienzo was misunderstanding the problem, if only they would let him speak—

Even's green eyes. Two people in the room were more than he could handle. He gasped for air. He saw Even pull out and prep some sort of needle but couldn't fight against the bite of sedation.

It took him a long while to shake the medicine, and when he finally did Demyx was so thirsty he couldn't believe it. His tongue was as dry as sandpaper and his joints ached, but at least he could no longer feel the blood moving in people's veins. He struggled to sit up and tried to clear his throat. There was a glass of stale water at the bedside and he drank it all down. It didn't ease much of the thirst, but at least he could speak. "Is someone… is someone there?"

Even popped his head through the crack in the door. "Nine," he said as he entered. "What on earth happened? We had thought we were going to lose you. It was quite frightening."

Demyx shuddered. "Can I have some more water?"

"Of course." He left and brought back a small pitcher and a cup. "You seem… intact," he said. "What did you remember?"

"I didn't  _remember_  anything, it's… the water," Demyx said. He looked at the liquid in the clear pitcher, but his thirst was too painful to resist drinking it. "There's something wrong with the water, and it's…"

Even also studied it. "Like what?"

"Darkness." He said it at last. "I could feel it in my body. The whole south reservoir is poisoned with darkness."

There was a very long silence. Even had gone still and glassy-eyed as he thought it over. "…You're certain," he said.

"I would never forget that feeling." Sitting here now he wanted rip off his skin to ease the crawling sensation.

Even turned. "Ienzo!" he yelled. "Where in the blazes are you?!"

Footsteps down the hall. Ienzo barged into the room; his face was flushed and he was breathless. "Oh… Nine, you're all right. Whatever is the matter?"

"Ienzo," Even said. "It's time we go to the lab."

Demyx saw Ienzo flinch, but he kept his tone neutral. "I was just there myself. What did you need?"

"Boy, you know what I mean."

Ienzo exhaled. "Why must we go there?" He didn't look Even in the eye.

"Because the whole town might very well still be in danger due to our mistakes," Even said. "Nine, you'd better come with us."


	10. The Lab

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx, Ienzo, and Even investigate the darkness in the water in the lab, and end up asking Sora for help.

X.

The Lab

"Well, what are you sitting there for? I mean  _today_ ," Even snapped.

Demyx got up too fast, and vertigo rolled through him. He put on his shoes and followed them out the door. He still felt weak and struggled to keep up with their brisk pace.

But they didn't leave the castle. Instead they went straight into some office Demyx never had been to. The room was round, with low bookshelves all along the walls, and a massive picture frame leaning against the wall had been covered by tarps. Even and Ienzo breezed right through to the room behind it.

Demyx barely had time to take the room in. There was a console computer overlooking a gaping hall. It looked like there were massive glass containers on the wall—containers more than big enough to fit a person. He exhaled sharply. "What—"

Even turned to face him. "Tell me something, Nine," he said. "What do you feel now?"

"What?" Demyx repeated.

"How did you know it was darkness?" He pressed.

"Well…" He could barely tear his gaze from the glass containers. Even, Ienzo, the rest—they had been scientists—their experiments dealt with darkness in the human heart—he took a shaky breath. "I… felt wrong for a few days when I worked with the committee," he explained. "Like, tired, like my muscles were burning, and even when I slept I never got my energy back. I thought it was just because I was using my powers too much, but yesterday… it was worse than usual."

"Can you describe how?" Ienzo asked gently. Demyx saw Even pacing back and forth, mouthing words to himself.

He clasped his arms around himself. "The burning was like all over, and then my teeth started going numb. And it reminded me of when I became a Nobody. I had thought that maybe it was a toxin in the water, from sitting stagnant for so long right above those crystals, but…" His throat was still dry and he swallowed. "It made me feel… dirty, kind of… itchy…"

Ienzo came towards him. He put a finger under Demyx's chin and looked deep into his eyes. He checked his pulse as well. "You seem unharmed," he said. "I don't even smell the darkness on you."

"It didn't touch me. I felt it in the water. I didn't make it up, I swear, I—"

"We never thought you made it up," Ienzo said, as Even's muttering increased in volume. "Still… curious, how were you able to feel it without being exposed?"

"My powers," Demyx tried hopelessly. "I can feel bodies of water in my consciousness. I used to be able to figure stuff out about them—if they were contaminated, or drinkable, or how deep or far away from me they were. I hadn't gotten that back yet, but I think the darkness, for whatever reason, gave it back to me for a little while and I wasn't ready for it."

"We already know darkness does not confine itself to any logic," Even said. "You must be very careful and tell us in an instant if you begin to feel that way again."

Ienzo dove towards the computer console and began to hammer away at the computer. "It won't let me  _in_ ," he hissed. "They must have changed all our passwords."

Demyx had never seen Ienzo this close to losing his cool. Nausea began to curdle in his stomach.

"Remember the backdoor, Ienzo," Even said in a voice that was probably supposed to be soothing. He went over to him. "We will fix this."

"We've done enough," Ienzo said bitterly. He slammed on the keys. "Damn it!"

Demyx flinched.

Even put an arm around him. "Take a deep breath, Ienzo. We need you to be calm."

He did so several times. Demyx swore he saw tears beading in the corners of his eyes.

"This is not something we can do on our own," Even said to Ienzo. "We can do some damage control for now, but we need the boy."

"Me?" Demyx asked faintly.

"No, Nine, but we need you to sense the extent of the damage. We need…" he grimaced, as if he tasted something bitter. "We need Sora."

Demyx's blood ran cold. "No," he said through his teeth. "No, I… I can't…"

"You felt how strong the darkness was. Do you want to risk exposing the townspeople to it?" Even asked.

His hands started to shake. "How long will it take him to get here?"

"Depends on where he is in his journey," Ienzo said in a shaky voice. He kept his eyes on the floor. "It could be minutes, it could be hours."

"I will go and explain the situation to the committee," Even said. "Both of you need to stay here and field the situation. That is, if you believe yourself capable of keeping it together."

 _He's coming._  The words jumbled together in Demyx's head. He was coming and even worse  _Demyx would have to work with him._  An ache sprang up in his chest and his lungs constricted. He slid down against the nearest wall.

The battle. The blood. The bluntness of the Keyblade scraping against his chest. A tight, pained sound left his mouth.

"He won't hurt you," Ienzo said tiredly. He leaned against the console for support. "If anything, he'll be looking to make amends."

Demyx clutched his knees to try and stop his hands from trembling.  _Breathe. Count to ten._  Was it darkness or pure fear making him feel this way? Slick, cold sweat gathered on his back. And then when he'd woken up after dying nothing was the same, nothing was  _right_ —

"You're not the only one who faced defeat at the hands of Sora," Ienzo said. His voice was still faint and his eyes faraway. "Perhaps you should talk to Xal—ah, Dilan. You might find it somewhat cathartic."

Cold tears snaked down his face, but at least he seemed able to breathe again. "Why are you so afraid?" Demyx asked.

Ienzo shut his eyes. "Because," he said. "All of this—Xehanort, the world falling to darkness, Nobodies, the Organization—it's because of me."

"…What?" Demyx said.

A long moment of silence. Ienzo's breathing became more labored, and he was trembling, but Demyx couldn't bring himself to go over and comfort him. "When… when I was a young child, studying under Ansem the Wise," he began. "I was quite precocious—precocious enough for them to introduce me to their own research. Ansem the Wise was always a man who was interested in the heart, but he didn't dare put any of his ideas into physical practice. The ethics, you see. The people of Radiant Garden used to be so strongly moral. With the arrival of the boy—Xehanort in Terra's body—it reawakened his curiosity. And I chose that moment to strike. I convinced him, and the others quickly backed me, to build a laboratory and put some rudimentary experiments into practice. It was all to try and heal the boy's memories; he was an amnesiac. He had replaced me as the favorite, the protégé, and I was jealous. I thought—if I could help him, then… We only had good intentions. And then…"

Demyx swallowed. "…And then?"

"Because of the psychological and emotional rigor of the tests, the darkness within the subjects' hearts spread like flame and devoured them. And we learned about the Heartless." His voice was level but his face was splotchy and tears coursed steadily down his face. "Whatever came next-inadvertently it was all because of me. And I wanted to spare  _him_  pain.  _Him._  All along."

Demyx didn't know what to say.

"I am trying my best to try and make up for what I did," he said. "But I can never undo it. I can never go back in time. I… must take my leave." He strode briskly out of the room and left Demyx there alone to contemplate the new meaning of the bottles on the wall.

* * *

He came quietly, and he came alone.

Demyx associated Sora with theatrics and loud bravado; not to mention those accursed friends of his. When he heard the knock on the wall, he assumed it was Even or one of the others, but then he looked up and saw the spiky hair and sky-blue eyes. Demyx's heart flew into his throat and choked him.

Demyx was still alone, as well. Ienzo's breakdown must have hit him pretty hard. Instinctively, he took a step back and raised his hands. He tried to breathe, and tasted bile.

Despite panic Demyx noticed that Sora looked different. Not just the outfit, or the hair, but the slump in his posture and the exhausted glint in his eye.

"I thought nobody was here," Sora said in a quiet voice. "Where is everyone?"

He dropped his hands. Sora expected an answer, but he couldn't speak.

Sora took a step forward. He was smaller than Demyx, and looked like he needed a good night's sleep. "You were the one who first sensed it, right?"

He nodded.

Sora walked past him over to the computer. "I'm not gonna hurt you," he said to the wall of bottles. "I can feel how tense you are from here."

The voice was uncanny, but Demyx was certain this was a  _different_  Sora. Still, he couldn't feel all that sorry for him. "Where are your friends?" he asked in a tremulous voice.

"They have other friends they need to help," Sora said. They made eye contact for the first time, and a chill shot down his spine. "It's just me. If that's okay."

 _You killed me_ , Demyx thought, but the words didn't leave his mouth. He shrugged.

"So I guess that means," Sora continued awkwardly. "That you turned out okay? After… our fight?" His hand flicked up to the back of his neck. "You're helping the committee. That means a lot to me."

"Not really," Demyx said. "I mean, I'm not."

"Not helping the committee? But Yuffie said—"

"No. I am. But I'm not okay."

"Oh," Sora said. "I'm… sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

 _Is there anything he can do?_  A blazing anger scalded away the rest of the fear, but Demyx was speechless.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway interrupted any stillborn expletives. Lea swaggered into the room, Keyblade akimbo. "Hey, you made it!" He called to Sora. "You know, you look terrible." Demyx watched in morbid fascination as they high-fived. "Oh, hey, Demyx," Lea added neutrally.

Sora squinted at him. "You still go by that name?"

"He has no other," Lea said. "It's a long story, right?"

"Right," Demyx said through his teeth.

"But he knows," Sora said quickly, and with a trace of panic. "He knows about the-?"

Lea put a hand on Sora's shoulder. "We still waiting for the others?"

"They think it has something to do with the lab," Demyx said. "And I have no idea how to get there."

Lea's smile faltered a little. "Well, don't worry about  _that_ , because I do."

"It's going to be dangerous," Sora said. "Can you fight?"

He had no weapon and his powers were unpredictable at best. He shrugged.

"I've got him covered," Lea said.

"I only sensed darkness in the water," Demyx said. "That doesn't mean I can face it."

"Maybe we should leave him here, then," Sora said.

It was irritating to be referred to like an object. Demyx grit his teeth.

"That may be so, but the boy might be our only indicator that the problem is solved." Even came from the doorway. Ienzo was not with him. "The laboratory's placement… was unfortunate in that regard. Connected right to a massive underground reservoir. Hello, Sora."

Sora squinted. "Hey, there."

"You don't remember me, do you? No matter. It's for the best."

Lea exhaled. "All right, old man. Let's get going."

The four of them went through a doorway to the south of the room. The lighting in here was dim at best, and a long, spiraling ramp proceeded down as far as Demyx could see. "Where is Ienzo?" He asked.

"He wanted to come, but he was unwell. I insisted he remain behind and lie down. He's let himself get all torn up about it. Things have changed. It will take him a while to realize that this burden is not his alone to bear, but all of ours."

Demyx noticed Lea look away sulkily. He drew his Keyblade.

"I don't like this place," Sora said. "What  _happened_?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" Even asked. "Really, truly sure? I would be glad to address it another time over tea. You must keep your head."

"I know it had something to do with… hearts," Sora continued. "But all the information I have is vague."

"I never realized you cared," Lea cut in. "Since when do you gather intel?"

Sora shrugged. "It helps," he said weakly.

As they proceeded down the staircase, it grew darker and colder. A thick, acrid smoky smell filled the air. The faint lights couldn't fight the gloom. Sora gathered a small ball of light in his hands, and Lea created one of fire. Demyx and Even huddled close behind.

"We're getting close," Even said.

Demyx could see his breath. A shudder crawled across his skin, but a hot bubbling sensation started in his peripheral, accompanied by a massive pressure. Even was right; the reservoir was  _huge_. He gasped out loud. He felt like he was being squeezed.

"Nine?" Even asked through the darkness.

"I feel it," he said.

"I do too," Sora said.

"I'm afraid it's gonna get worse before it gets better," Lea said. "We're barely halfway there. Will you be okay?"

"I think so," Sora said. Demyx couldn't be too sure. An overwhelming nausea gathered in his stomach and he kept his mouth shut.

The stairway emptied out to a flat floor full of doors with slotted windows. Overhead fluorescents popped on, but it didn't do anything to ease the gloom. They all tensed at once; Even and Lea both wore tight, drawn expression. Sora's eyes flooded with tears and a hand fluttered over his mouth. "Their pain… I…  _what happened, here_?"

"I believe we can discuss it later," Even said firmly.

"No." Sora's voice was sharp. "I have to know. Pain like this—it's not natural. Can't you hear that?"

All Demyx heard was a pressing silence and the simmering of the water roiling with darkness. He leaned against a wall to keep his balance.

"Look at where we are, Sora. What do you  _think_  happened?" Lea asked in a harsh voice.

Sora stepped back. He glanced at the cells. His eyes widened and he turned even paler. "Why?" He asked. "Why?  _How_?" He spat the last word at Even.

"Sora, you have to keep it together so we can fix this," Even said.

He turned. "I have to—I have to  _help them_ ," he muttered.

"It's too late for them now," Even said. "But you can keep the people above from reaching the same fate."

"It's not too late for them," Demyx said faintly. He was feverish. "If we fix this, we'll be helping them."

"Them?" Lea asked.

"Not all people who become Heartless become Nobodies," Demyx said. "Their souls and bodies have to go somewhere. And the darkness keeps them here."

They all looked at him. Finally Sora nodded. "All right. Enough is enough. Where do we have to go?"

"There's only one more level," Lea said. "If they're not here, they're going to be down there." He gestured with the flame in his palm.

Sora bobbed his head again. "I'll go alone," he said.

"What? Are you crazy?" Lea barked. "You could  _still_  get slaughtered down there."

"It won't help them go in peace if their perpetrators are the one taking them down. Again." Sora's gaze was fierce. "So I'm going." He turned to Demyx. "Will you come with me?"


	11. Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx and Sora face the darkness in the lab, and in the process nearly get killed. Later, a familiar figure comes to visit Demyx.

He froze. "…What?"

"You feel them too," Sora said. "You did nothing to hurt them. Come with me."

"But he can't defend himself," Even said. "You'll be enough at risk as it is. Sora, do you really need that?"

Another shiver that had nothing to do with the darkness went through him. "Does he really need another burden, you mean?" Demyx asked. The blood was hot in his cheeks. He was covered all over in a feverish sweat. "Because—because—that's all I am, you know."

"Nine, you're just being idiotic," Even said.

"Yeah, you can't fight," Lea said.

Sora still looked at him expectantly. Between all of the stares and the incredible pressure all over his body he couldn't take it. "Enough," he said in a low voice. He took a shaky breath. "I'll go with you."

Sora nodded very seriously. "Then let's go now."

Lea made a frustrated noise. "Fine, but if you get your asses kicked, don't come crawling to me."

Even patted Sora's hand with a passive expression. "We will come if you need help."

Demyx followed Sora down a narrow, shallow staircase. His heart was hammering in his chest, both from anger and a raw, itchy strain. The acrid smell grew stronger and mustier and the burning sensation in his peripheral started to creep into his body. "Shit," he said.

Sora also hissed under his breath.

This level was darker and more cramped, and the windows in the cells were smaller. The air here was humid, too. The damp air crawled all over Demyx's skin and he couldn't help it anymore; he threw up.

"Are you okay?" Sora asked in a strange voice.

Demyx wiped his mouth and shook his head.

"Look," Sora said, and he pointed.

The hallway was long and dark, and Demyx had trouble seeing what Sora wanted him to. Thin tendrils of pure darkness snaked all down the hallway. He watched in horror as it began to consume his vomit into nothingness.

"I know, I know," Sora said to it. "It'll all be over soon."

What happened to the boy who killed without hesitation? Who thought anything linked to darkness was inherently evil?

Sora brightened the light in his palm. The darkness roiled smoothly from a single cell at the end of the corridor, directly facing them. He flinched and put a hand to his head.

"What's wrong?" Demyx asked.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it." He drew his Keyblade. "You came this far. But you don't have to follow me in there."

"Can you handle it?"

"I'm sure I can." He smiled, but his eyes were oddly blank. "You can wait here. Listen to them." He waved and lit his way through the darkness. It quickly slipped over him and took him out of sight.

Alone in the semidarkness, Demyx held his breath. He was alone with Sora, but he wasn't worried about Sora hurting him; more like both of them getting killed. Suddenly this all seemed stupid, and the heat of his anger was rapidly being replaced by an icy fear. The smooth darkness twitched.

"Don't be afraid!" Sora yelled. Demyx didn't know whose benefit it was for.

A blinding light scorched the hallway. Demyx had to shut his eyes. The pressure he'd been fighting against squirmed and roiled and for a second all he felt was a sunburst of pain in his chest. He wasn't sure if the pain was from the light or the darkness; he just wanted it to go away. For a second he heard it—bright, shrill shrieking like a million voices in pain, pushing up against his consciousness and opening something sharp inside of his chest. It pushed and pushed until his knees gave out from under him.

Demyx must have blacked out, because the next thing he knew Even was coaxing him to a sitting position. The intense pain had faded, but he was sore all over to the bone. His vision was distinctly blurry and his eyes hurt as they moved. The tendrils of darkness were gone, and their stink had been replaced by typical basement musk. "…What…"

"Are you all right?" Even asked. His expression was tired and drawn.

Demyx tried to sit up on his own. "…I feel…" he began. Something felt wrong in his body, but he didn't know what. Too heavy but too light at the same time. "I feel weird." Something was missing, like a lost tooth. There was a gap.

"You're lucky that little stunt of yours didn't get you killed," Even said. "Are you ready to move?"

His legs seemed like they had turned to jelly, but he let Even help him up anyway. "Where… where's Sora?"

"Lea took him to see Aerith. He was in worse shape than you. Releasing power of that magnitude… the boy has no real control over his abilities. He nearly burned out his own life. And yours, too."

They began the slow, painstaking walk upstairs. Only then did Demyx process what Even had said, and for some reason he found it funny. "I do the bastard a favor and he almost kills me  _again_ ," he said. "I thought light was supposed to be good? And healing?"

"Life is about balance," Even said softly. "The stability of matter relies on the presence of both light and darkness. If there is too much of either, the laws of physics become corrupted. Too much light, uncontrolled, could have easily disintegrated your bodies. The problem in this case was too much pure  _energy_. Your cells might have ripped themselves apart."

Demyx didn't understand. Everything was still fuzzy.

"Light usually causes no harm, even in mass quantities. But Sora… is different. His power is unreadable, and for the most part untrained. When he released all that light to ease the darkness, the light took on some of the qualities of the pain he was trying to ease. And that's why it was so dangerous."

"Is that what people mean when they say there's darkness in the light?" Demyx asked.

"Well, no," Even said, and launched into a lecture Demyx didn't listen to. His body weighed him down and he had trouble keeping his eyes open. Why was this castle so big? He listened to the wind wailing through the windows, soft at first and then stronger. The air was cool from the stone, and it soothed some of his feverishness. He stopped in his tracks, listening dazedly, as Even continued rambling. A sharp pain had started gnawing his breastbone.

"Even?" He asked.

"What  _is_  it, Nine?" Even asked. He turned to face him. "Do you need to rest?"

"What's happening to me?"

He squinted at Demyx through acidic eyes. "Whatever do you mean?"

His heart was racing in his ears. "I think…" he began, and then crumpled again.

* * *

 

He woke up an unknown amount of time later disoriented and in pain. It seemed to come from the spot right under his breastbone, but there was no injury, and when he pulled up his shirt all he saw were the still-healing scars.

He stood on trembling legs. A thin, butterfly-shaped needle had been placed inside his left hand and tethered him to a pole with a half-empty bag of saline dangling from it. Slowly, wincing, he pulled out the needle and stoppered the blood with a handful of tissues. He was hungry to the point of being queasy, and his drawstring pants felt even looser on him than he remembered.

_What the hell happened?_  He remembered everything in the hallway with Sora, and the burst of light, and walking back with Even. He assumed that they'd only hooked him up like this if he'd been under for some time. He wrapped up his bleeding hand with one of the old rolls of bandages.

He felt… different… and strange, like his body wasn't his or real. Demyx looked in the mirror. His hair was loose and unkempt, and the circles below his eyes were decidedly unpretty, but the face that stared back was his own.

He walked down the castle corridor in his socks. Had he remembered something, and that put him out of commission? If only he could think of what he'd remembered…

He heard voices in the kitchen down the hall. Dilan and Aeleus, he guessed by the timbre. Maybe they knew what was going on. Besides, if he didn't eat something soon he might pass out  _again_. The low blood sugar made him slightly dizzy.

When he pushed open the cracked door the conversation in the room abruptly stopped. Dilan and Aeleus were there, yes. Dilan's expression was one of dry concern; Aeleus's no more animated than it ever was.

But then a third voice, unnoticed until then, spoke. "There you are. Late as ever, I see. You've kept me waiting."

Demyx looked over and wasn't sure what he was seeing was real. He blinked a few times, but the person didn't disappear. In fact, he smiled.

"I assure you I am the real thing," the man continued in his smug accent.

"But… you…" He clutched at the doorway for support. "Lu—"

"Don't say the name, my boy. And somebody get this poor child something to eat." He patted the remaining empty chair next to him. "Come, sit. I'd like to speak with you."

Demyx shook his head. Was he still unconscious? Dreaming, maybe? He looked the same… this Somebody's hair was still blond and shorn. He'd replaced his coat with a respectable white shirt and ironed pants getup. His pants even had  _creases_. A purple vest and red tie were layered over it, and the Nobody insignia earring had been replaced with square studs.

"You look as if you've seen a ghost," Luxord's Somebody said.

"But…" Demyx said. "Where were you? All this time, where were you? And how did you get here?"

"I'm afraid it's a bit irrelevant."

"Tell me anyway," Demyx said. Aeleus put a bowl of oatmeal in front of him and he thanked him weakly.

"I reformed on my home world. That's where I've been. And I got here through the usual means." He pulled out his deck of cards and shuffled them. They had changed too, but every time Demyx tried to get a good look at the back of the card, it seemed to be something different.

"Indeed, one might wonder why you waited so long to contact us," Dilan cut in. The glint in his eyes was quiet and dangerous. His lip quirked.

"Can you blame me for not becoming involved?" The man said calmly.

"So then why did you come?" Aeleus asked. He remained a standing monolith.

"I have some business with our friend here," the man said.

"Nine?" Dilan laughed. "What could you possibly have to discuss with him?"

Demyx looked down into his bowl and tried to squelch the anger.

"I'm sure you've all found this reformation business very mysterious and interesting," the man said. "And, of course, the question remains,  _why you_?"

Demyx gritted his teeth. "I get it. I'm useless, I'm stupid, what could I possibly have to offer their side?"

"That's not what I was thinking at all," the man said. He gestured to the empty bowl. "If you're done, might we walk? Alone."

Demyx wasn't sure whether or not he should trust him. But he'd always had a decent enough rapport with Luxord back in the Organization days, and he'd heard nothing if he was included with Xehanort's bunch. "…Um, sure."

He followed him down the hall. "…So what should I call you?" he asked.

"You don't have to call me anything," the man said.

"But your true name? You have it back?"

Luxord's Somebody shuffled his cards again in his hands, back and forth. "We both know you're neither stupid nor useless," he said instead. "In fact, when you put your mind to it you're just as smart as any of them. And I bet that, were you in fighting shape, you'd have perfect situational awareness—something they distinctly lack."

"What are you getting at?" Demyx asked.

"And your power. Understated by any of this lot, but… potent. Sleeping. I imagine that little encounter with Sora has you feeling strange? Not quite yourself?" He didn't make eye contact.

"I haven't felt myself in weeks." But he understood; he had never felt quite this detached. "Stop speaking in riddles and give it to me straight," Demyx said.

Luxord's Somebody turned and stood in front of him. "You're still changing quite a lot. You're unstable. We know they did this to you for a reason. There are a couple of possibilities, of course. Perhaps it was an experiment, perhaps it really was true randomness of the universe, as it were. But I feel… whatever Sora did to you, however incidentally, was all part of the plan. I think they might make a sleeper agent of you yet."

* * *

 


	12. Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luxord's Somebody reveals something deeply unsettling to Demyx about his fate. Later, Demyx and Lea discuss guilt.

XII.

Lies

The idea was so ridiculous Demyx actually laughed.

"Your heart is still fractured," Luxord's Somebody continued. "We're approaching a tipping point. It may heal, it may shatter entirely. They might use that to control you."

He put a hand on his hip. "Oh really? How?"

He looked at the top card on his deck. "They might give you dreams. Memories to chase."

"Look, frankly, I don't give a fuck about what happens with… with Xehanort. I just want to figure out what the hell is going to happen to me." His voice came sharp.

Luxord's Somebody's gaze was neutral. "You ever wonder why they stopped calling you Demyx? Even though you asked?"

He said nothing.

"That extra letter we all carried in our names  _meant_  something. At the time we thought it was all just a symbol of brotherhood. But it's the Recusant's Sigil. It's what he uses to track what's his."

A sharp burst of adrenaline ran through him. "So he's tracking me? At all times?"

"I'm not sure of the specifics. But it's why they don't take risks saying your name more than they have to." He showed Demyx a hand, the full suite of nines. "It would make sense if they still planned to use you."

His voice trembled when he said, "If you're so sure, then what would they use me for?"

"Well, you're close with the resistance, are you not? Are you not currently in a position that could jeopardize the lives of all of the people in this city? Everyone needs clean drinking water…" Shuffling again.

"This is stupid!" Demyx shouted. "You're wrong. You have to be."

"My boy, I wish I were," he said. He smiled sadly. "But now that you know… we might be able to prevent it yet. Or use it to our advantage. I'm not sure how."

"And of course everyone knew but me," he spat.

"Why did you think this happened to you?" he asked. "Really, why? They told you it was Xehanort. It never occurred to you?"

Demyx felt nauseous. "I thought I wasn't worth anything to him. I thought he was trying to get rid of me permanently because… because…" He pulled his hands through his hair. "Because—" His chest was tight and searing and his vision had gone blurry. He didn't think; he ran.

He made it to the edge of the construction site before he had to stop for breath. He leaned against the cool stone wall.

Questions bounced off the inside of his head. Was anything he'd remembered real and true? How much power did Xehanort have over his memories? Luxord's Somebody had talked about  _possibilities_ , but every time someone brought up possibilities around here they were accepted as fact.

Was he being tracked at all moments, or sporadically? Did Xehanort know what he was doing or thinking? Well, maybe not, because sometimes Xemnas had had difficulty tracking members of the Organization. Maybe he was a little bit safe—

He was an animal trapped in a cage. A time bomb. And if he was a sleeper agent? Was that a path to instant Nortification? Or was he nothing more than a pawn? Would he have any control? Would he lose it at any moment?

 _I'm losing it now._  His hands trembled at his sides.

"Hey mister, are you—oh. It's just you." Yuffie's voice, sharp and shrill, cut into him. Demyx heard Yuffie jump down. "What the hell is wrong with you? You look…" she raised an eyebrow.

"Leave me alone," he hissed through his teeth.

"You're a mess. And because I'm good at my job, I'm going to help you." She took a step closer to him.

"I said leave me alone."

Yuffie put a hand on her hip. "Do I even want to ask what happened?"

His legs were still burning from the exertion of his mad dash and he focused on the pain.

"Did they turn you out, or something?"

His eyes burned, and he tried to restrain the tears, but they overflowed anyway. "Go away," he said.

"And let you get snapped up by some Heartless? They breed right around here, you know. I'd never hear the end of it." She crossed her arms. "Wait, are you… crying?"

"Fuck," he spat. He waited for her further insults, but she said nothing of the sort.

"…Look," she said after a long moment. "I heard about what you did with Sora. That was… good." She nodded, as if to convince herself.

Demyx tried to quell the shaking.

"It doesn't make up for what you did before, of course. You're not off the hook. But you're not all bad." Her words fell a little flat. She sighed. "I'm trying to be nice to you."

"You're shitty at it," he said. His voice trembled.

"So sue me." She swung her shuriken idly. "What is it this time? A memory?"

"No," he said. A weighty hopelessness began to crush out the panic. "No, it's…" how did he even explain? More importantly, did he want to? She already hated him, so why give her more fuel? "It doesn't matter."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"I don't want to talk about it and I know you don't really care. So please drop it." He spoke too quickly. She looked down and tapped the handle of her blade. For a fraction of a second she looked almost… sorry.

"Do you want to see him?" Yuffie asked. "Sora."

"Why would I want to do that?" Demyx asked.

"He's been asking for you. He feels bad."

"…Why?"

"I don't know, it's Sora."

Demyx weighed his options. He could either return to a castle full of liars, or go talk to his murderer. "…All right."

They didn't talk much as they walked over to her house. She swung her shuriken back and forth absently and waved to a couple of people, but otherwise her gaze was unreadable. Demyx's eyes were still hot and he poked at the swollen skin underneath them. He knew how he must look—hair a mess, not even dressed in real clothes, red-eyed and pale—and thought about turning back. But where would he go?

"Well, well, well, look! The Great Ninja Yuffie! And… you." Lea was leaning upon one of the walls by Merlin's house. His sly smile quickly turned into a look of confusion. "What—"

"Hey Lea!" Yuffie said with sudden cheer. Demyx hardly thought it was fair that she forgave  _him_  for everything he'd done in his Nobody days. "Whatcha doing?"

"What else? Waiting around for the hero. Somebody's got to teach that kid about punctuality." He wasn't wearing the coat, instead jeans and red.

"You're one to talk." She punched him lightly on the arm.

"Anyway, if you're looking for him, he's off visiting his storybook friends. Kid's got a bit of a queue. He's been out of commission for a few days, and now he's catching up. So take a number." He shrugged.

Yuffie frowned. "Well, he asked for  _him_ ," she jabbed a thumb in Demyx's direction. "And it's almost time for me to go on rounds."

Demyx was too tired to be angry at his exclusion from the conversation.

"I'll hang with him," Lea said. "You go on ahead."

"Sure." She shrugged. "See you around, I guess." She waved and took off just a little bit too fast.

"You don't need to babysit me," Demyx said.

"Well, we sorta do, bud, after that stunt. You alright? You look terrible."

He hesitated.

Lea stood up and waved a hand. "Come with me. I'm sure you weren't looking forward to seeing Sora anyway, right?"

Lea led him deeper through town to the sixth sector, which was considerably more run-down and depopulated than where Aerith and Yuffie lived. Some of the buildings were in ruin; there seemed to be an exact dividing line right down the center. Demyx shuddered as he thought of all the people that might have once been in those homes…

Lea's house was one of the ones that were in better shape, though some of its windows had been replaced with boards. "Home sweet home," he said. "Come right on in."

The house was the same size as Aerith and Yuffie's, but almost completely devoid of furniture and knick-knacks. There was a battered navy blue couch in the living room, along with a card table and two folding chairs. A light brown carpet covered the floor and the walls were bare, aside from some built-in shelving that had a few scant possessions. Demyx noted some empty potion bottles, two battered books, a handful of seashells, and a single popsicle stick with "WINNER" emblazoned on one end. Demyx went to ask why he still kept it, but Lea had disappeared into the kitchen.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said. He came back with a bottle of amber liquid and two mugs. "You game?" He gestured to the bottle.

He hadn't had a drink in months, and it was probably a terrible idea, so he said, "Sure."

Lea poured them both out a generous amount. He handed one of the mugs to Demyx and drank deeply from his own, then sank against the couch. Demyx sat on the floor and found the carpet surprisingly comfortable. The liquor burned his throat and nose, but he found the feeling pleasant, and warmth gathered in his belly. "So," Lea said. "How have you been?"

"I don't know how to answer that question," Demyx said. He finished the rest of the drink and pulled his knees to his chest. "What about you?"

"I know what you mean." Lea looked at his empty mug. "It's confusing out there. And drop-dead terrifying. It's strange, not to fight in the shadows."

"Do you like working with Sora?"

Lea poured himself another drink and offered some more to Demyx. "It's different than I thought it would be," he admitted. "Something's changed in him. He's taking things a lot more seriously, doing a lot more on his own. I don't know what happened to him after the Mark of Mastery. Oh boy. Now  _that_  was interesting." He frowned.

"Wasn't that when you got your Keyblade?" His skin was warm, and he was feeling a little dizzy. Was this what it felt like to be drunk? He realized—with a start—that he didn't actually know. His power had always neutralized everything too quickly. How strong was this stuff, anyway?

"Oh, yeah. That." There was no pride in his expression, but a detachment. "Sometimes…" he began, but he didn't finish the sentence, only drank some more.

Demyx waited for him to finish the thought.

"What happened to you?" Lea asked. "Why were you so upset?"

He didn't want to think about it, but he felt sick to his core; all the pleasant tipsiness was gone. "Why did you all lie to me about my name?" he asked.

Lea exhaled. "What were we supposed to _do_? Let's be real, buddy. You're a mess. We were worried that finding out would only make things worse. The vessels' hands are everywhere, in everything."

"There's other stuff they know about me. I know there is," he hedged. "Maybe you guys are trying to protect me, whatever. But I have a right to know."

"Is that what you and Ten were talking about?" It was so strange to hear Lea, of all people, referring to Luxord's Somebody that way.

"He thinks Xehanort might use me as a sleeper agent against the resistance." He finished off his second drink. "What's worse, I  _believe_ him."

"You do?"

"I think so." He trembled. "It… it makes sense… the argument."

Lea looked away, thinking hard. "I'm sorry about all this."

Demyx shook his head. "Can I have some more?"

"Maybe you shouldn't. This stuff is pretty strong, and you're not used to it." Lea capped the bottle.

"What am I going to do?" he asked. "Oh, shit."

Lea took out a cigarette and began to smoke. "We don't know what's going to happen for sure. Don't worry just yet."

"But what if they're right? What if that  _does_  happen? I don't want to hurt anybody. Not anymore."

"It won't happen," Lea said through a mouthful of smoke. "We won't  _let_  it happen."

Demyx didn't ask him to clarify what he meant.

Lea offered him a cigarette. For a while, they smoked in silence. "I thought Sora would be more like him," he admitted.

"Like Ro—Thirteen?" Demyx asked.

Lea sighed. "It's not the same. I thought it would almost be."

Demyx squinted through dim memories. Roxas was always kind, quiet, and friendly. He had actually exploited his good work ethic a number of times. There was something  _about_  Roxas—some kind of glimmer—that made everyone around him nearly feel something. It was no wonder that Lea had abandoned the rest of them for that kind of friendship. He remembered having felt a shadow of jealousy. "Are we bad people?" he asked suddenly.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"We did bad things in the Organization. We hurt people."

Lea seemed irritated. "Demyx, you're drunk."

"It's true," he insisted. A seeping hopelessness was filling him from head to toe. "I did bad things for him before. And now I could do them again without a choice. What do I do?"

Lea shook his head and looked out the window. "It's getting dark," he said. "I think you might be stuck here for the night."

Demyx looked out one of the few windows. The sun had set, covering the district in a blue sheet. Without people, it was eerily quiet, and the knot of anxiety in his stomach tightened.

"Look," Lea said after a tense moment. "The shit that happened in the past—it's over now. There's nothing we can do about it but try to be better. You understand?"


	13. Alterations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx returns to the castle from Lea's only to find Aeleus grievously injured. Ienzo has some information to share. 
> 
> ***THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DESCRIPTIONS OF A MEDICAL PROCEDURE SOME MAY FIND DISTURBING***

XIII.

Alterations

Demyx woke on Lea's couch with the sun directly in his eyes. It was very early—courtesy of going to bed before eight—and he was groggy and vaguely headachy. He sat up and ran his hands through his hair.

He noticed Lea in the kitchen, nursing some sort of hot drink. There were prominent circles under his eyes. "Oh good, you're awake," Lea said. "I'm afraid you're on your own if you want a good breakfast. I haven't got much of anything."

"That's fine," he said. Despite it being nearly summer, it was cold in the room, and he kept the blanket around his shoulders as he shuffled over to the table.

Lea yawned. "There's still coffee."

"Did you sleep at all?"

"I tried to." He leaned back in his chair. "But I'm on Heartless duty, and they needed me, so off I went."

Demyx poured himself a cup and sat down. "I guess being a hero is pretty exhausting."

"You don't know the half of it."

For a moment there was silence. The room smelled like stale coffee and cigarettes. Lea shut his eyes for a long moment, and then opened them.

"You have to go back," Lea said. "The others are worried about you. Dilan was bitching about it."

It was too early to know how he felt. The potency of the coffee, combined with an empty stomach, made him jittery. "Are they," he said. "Then why didn't they tell me the truth?"

Lea huffed. "I'm not going through this with you again. For once in your life, won't you just do what you're supposed to?"

Silence. Demyx looked into his mug.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." He jiggled his leg under the table, and Demyx felt the vibrations through the wood. "I get cranky when I'm tired."

He stood. "I guess I'll go then. Thanks for the hospitality." He set the mug in the kitchen sink and set the blanket on the couch.

"Hey…" Lea said. "You really shouldn't take everything so personally. You know? You'll be a lot better off."

He nodded without making eye contact and then set off.

* * *

Home sweet home. Or whatever.

He cleaned up and ate. The whole floor where they all lived was eerily quiet. He could hear his own breathing as he moved from place to place. The tap in the bath seemed deafening in comparison.

What now?

Demyx knew he  _should_  find Even or Ienzo, and tell them where he'd gone and why. And then they would probably lay into him about running off, and then he would get angry and hurt again at their neglect, because anything that had to do with him was not important enough to be mentioned in passing.

"I really have to stop," he said out loud to himself. Wallowing in self-pity was plain pathetic.

He headed towards the library and tried not to listen to his own breaths. As he approached, a cold, skittering sensation formed along his spine and he jerked his head around. There was no one there; maybe it was a draft?

The sensation deepened and tightened in the pit of his stomach. There was nothing… bad, about it, particularly, and in fact it was vaguely familiar. He took a couple of steps back to compare.

He felt their blood, he realized. It was nowhere near as terrifying or painful like immediately after the darkness in the water had fucked with him, but it was still there. He closed his eyes and reached a little farther into the silence around him, until he was able to feel the water in the pipes not too far overhead.

Okay. So that was a thing. Right now completely useless, but at least it meant his powers were on the mend. Maybe the rest of him would be too. Some hope.

There were at least three of them there. He couldn't tell who they were, just that one was still and two were moving. Was someone sleeping? Or hurt?

He exhaled. "Of fucking course."

Demyx followed the feeling down into the library. A hush of startled whispering crept at him from down the stairs.

"…I'm not certain what happened. One moment our work was going smoothly. And then… everything collapsed. I did my best to get us both out of there before we were smothered." Dilan said. He was coughing.

"I'm trying my best—but I'm not sure I can do much more. He might lose the arm."

Demyx froze, and steeled himself for what he might see.

"We need to get him to the lab. There's only so much I can do from here." Even's tone was resigned. "Careful, Dilan. Careful."

Demyx saw them coming down the stairs. Dilan carried an unconscious Aeleus in his arms, and both of them were caked in blood and dust. His whole left arm looked battered and flat like a shirt sleeve, the skin mottled purple as the blood oozed under it. Demyx's hand flew up to cover his mouth and he tried not to get sick.

"…Nine," Even said with a note of surprise in his voice. "Good timing. You might be able to help me. Come."

"Do I have to?" he said without thinking.

Even gave him a distasteful look and grabbed his wrist. "Since when are you so squeamish?"

Demyx followed them all the way downstairs, keeping his eyes stubbornly on the floor instead of on the blood. Even rushed them into the lab and over to a cleared table. He doused it in disinfectant and dried it hastily. "Set him here," he said. Dilan put Aeleus down and dropped to his knees, coughing and wheezing. His face was a concerning shade of purple.

"Wash your hands," Even barked at Demyx. "And get over here."

He did as he was told. What did Even mean by "helping him"? He wasn't going to have to… cut anything, right? Wasn't that Ienzo's purview?

"Won't you give him something for the pain?" Dilan said in a hoarse voice.

"He's beyond feeling anything right now," Even said as he cleaned off the arm. "I sealed the wound," he explained. "I froze the blood supply. The bones are completely shattered."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Demyx asked. He couldn't get his eyes off of the battered arm.

"I need you to keep his blood moving through the procedure. I'm afraid that if we keep the blood frozen, the tissue will die," he said.

"The procedure?" he repeated. "You're not… you're not going to—"

Even probed the bones. "I believe we can grow the bones back," he said. "It's not as if the shoulder is crushed, just the arm."

"It'd be more merciful just to amputate," Dilan said from his corner, still coughing. "He… he could work around it. You'd rather subject him to weeks of agony?"

"Then what would we do with it?" Even asked. "Throw it out? So it would become Heartless bait?"

Demyx was convinced this was a surreal nightmare, and he was still on Lea's couch.

Even went back to the sink. He piled up his long hair and pulled it under a cotton cap, then began meticulously and thoroughly scrubbing his hands. He slid on latex gloves with a  _snap_  and Demyx flinched.

"There's no need for you to stay, Dilan," Even said to Dilan. Dilan fled, still coughing, trailing dust out the door.

_But why can't I leave?_  Demyx thought.

"No need to look so frightened. I'm only removing the shattered bone," Even said in a voice he must have thought was comforting. "I've done the very same thing to your ribs. Won't be nearly so difficult. I remember that. Ienzo didn't sleep for eighteen hours, keeping vigil, keeping you unconscious through the worst of it."

Demyx shook his head. He felt at his ribs convulsively.

"Oh goodness—you needn't even  _look_ , so long as you can keep his blood moving. Enough to keep the tissue alive, but not so much as to hinder me, you understand?" He pulled a scalpel and forceps out of a sterilizing machine. "I'm going to unfreeze it. There are ethers right over there. You might want to take one."

He took the small blue bottle and looked down at Aeleus. He shut his eyes—equally in concentration and disgust—and felt the blood supply. It was strange to do this after so long, and slightly straining. Many of the distinct vessels in the arm had burst, or been cut, so he rerouted the flow as best as he could. It was an oddly intimate experience because he could feel Aeleus's nerves and capillaries, and the strength in the muscles. And, dimly, the pain.

"Good," Even said. Demyx tried not to hear what he was doing as he set about working. And the smell—the dust and the blood—made him dizzy. He gritted his teeth and tried not to think about what would happen if Aeleus woke up.

"I would have been so useful to have you in the Organization," Even said casually. Demyx heard slight ticks of bone against a bowl. Aeleus's pain began to beat against the back of Demyx's eyes. "But then again—you are so very good at slipping away at the worst moments. How's it feel?"

"Me or him?" he asked in a strained voice.

"You."

"Hurts," he said.

"Pain has to go somewhere," Even said. "It felt you were there and jumped to you. I know I've asked a lot of you. He'll be grateful to know you helped. Really.  _Amputation._  Dilan must have a very low opinion of me. I am no amateur. Drink some ether, and sit if you need. You're losing your color."

He did so and flinched at the oily taste. The pain subsided for a moment.

It seemed to go on for a long time. Demyx could feel his own heartbeat in his throat, and Aeleus's. He started trembling, and a cold sweat crept under his arms.

"That's the last of it. Let me fix the vessels and your work will be done."

His muscles had started to cramp up.

"Nine, breathe. Slowly. Deeply." Even worked for another few long, torturous minutes. "Very good. You've done so well. You can let it go now. Slowly, though."

It wasn't something that could be done slowly; it was more like a rubber band that would snap. The magnitude of what he'd done hit him only once he'd detached himself from Aeleus's vascular system. "Oh, god. Oh, fuck." Aeleus's pain had left him, but the strain on his power had given him a magnificent migraine, and he was shivering uncontrollably. He opened his eyes. The room seemed much brighter than it used to. If he'd slipped even once, or if his powers had decided to act up, he could have hurt him. Or worse—

"Breathe. Breathe."

"I am breathing!" he snapped. His whole chest was tight. He looked at Aeleus. The arm was better in color, though still bruised, and now it looked more comical than horrific. And then he made the mistake of looking slightly to the right, at the bone fragments.

"If you must be sick, there's a waste bin over there," Even said calmly. Demyx was too tense to get sick, but his hand hovered over his mouth anyway. "Did you happen to sense whether or not there was bleeding in the brain?"

"There's not even any swelling," he said weakly. He sank to the floor.

"Excellent. Excellent! If only I had your power…" He cleared the bone away into a hazardous waste bag. "I supposed I'll have to get Lea to dispose of this."

Demyx heard Even take off his gloves. He shivered in sharp bursts. Even draped a wool blanket around his shoulders and checked his vitals absently. "…Fascinating," he said. "Low body temperature. Shallow breathing. Blood pressure and heart rate are quite low. But no need, I feel, to be concerned. Oh, dear." He passed Demyx the waste bin just in time for him to finally and quite violently get sick.

The door slammed open. "I came as soon as I heard," Ienzo said breathlessly. "I—oh. Oh my."

"Where in the blazes have you been?" Even snapped, though he didn't move from Demyx's side. "Get him some electrolytes. The purple, I think. Do you feel faint?" The last question was address towards Demyx.

"My head hurts," he said through the acid in his mouth.

"Of course it does," Even said soothingly.

Ienzo still breathed hard. "I  _found_  something," he said. He handed Demyx a glass of viscous liquid and two white pills. "Even, you would not believe. But what… what happened here?"

"Come, Nine," Even said. He helped him stand. He was still shivering, but the purple stuff was starting to help, even if it tasted like snot.

"I want to hear," he said.

"You will. We need to get Aeleus settled first."

A few moments of transition. Ienzo gave him some more purple goo. Dilan came back, clean but still wheezing, to shepherd off Aeleus to his room. He shook his head disapprovingly. "He'll have to deal with the loss either way," Dilan said.

"Perhaps not. Nine was a great deal of help," Even said. "Why don't you meet us in the kitchen? Once this is all done." And then they were all gone.

Demyx shuffled back upstairs. The medicine he'd been given had numbed the pain but made him fuzzy. How long had he been in there? Hard to tell. He made it, somehow, and slumped into a chair. He knew he should eat, but couldn't find the strength to prepare anything, so he sat staring at the empty glass he'd carried all the way up here.

Dilan came in and put up a pot of coffee. Wordlessly, he made a peanut-butter sandwich and passed it to him.

"What's this for?" he asked.

Dilan shut the cabinet and said nothing.

He forced himself to eat. The bread tasted like paste. Maybe there was something wrong with his tastebuds. Once the coffee had finished, Dilan gave him that, too, boiling and black.

"Um, thanks, but I can—"

"Why is it that something like this happens only as soon as the truth comes out?" He asked. His expression was cold and fierce.

It took him a moment. "What do you mean?"

Dilan turned; his face set in a scowl. He said nothing and stood frozen at the corner of the small room. Demyx sipped at the coffee even though it was too hot, but it eased some of the shivering.

Even and Ienzo returned. Even seemed relieved; Ienzo's face was hard to read.

"Good, you're eating," Even said. "I'm afraid I may have pushed—"

"What is going on that you're not saying?" Dilan asked. "What happened out there?"

"I am not sure what you're implying, Dilan, but I could do without your ugly tone," Even replied coolly.

"You were the one to witness it, were you not?" Ienzo asked. "Why don't we start from the beginning?"

"We were clearing tunnels belowground. We've done this work for days and we've never yet had an issue. But today… Aeleus seemed off," Dilan said. He began to pace. "Tired. Strained. It seemed like he was having difficulty. I suggested we might rest, but he refused. And then it seemed like his powers stopped working. I saw him going through the motions, but nothing happened. And the tunnel collapsed. We barely survived. His arm got crushed in the debris." He looked at Demyx.

"I think exhaustion is natural," Even said. "We all know Aeleus never speaks of his discomforts. He made a mistake."

"He never makes mistakes. And if you're correct, then by all means, I should be burning out as well."

"Then what  _do_  you think it is?" Ienzo asked tersely.

Dilan grunted in response. "We've all been having some sort of trouble. What if it's… advancing?"

"What trouble?" Demyx asked.

Silence. Even stirred his tea.

"You mean nobody's told the boy?" Dilan asked.

"Nobody tells me anything!" Pain shot through his head and his vision grew fuzzy for a moment. Even came over to him and stared into his eyes, as if looking for something.

"Perhaps we should wait," Even said.

"Dilan is right," Ienzo said. "What I found today concerns us too. We've all been altered. Every one of us."


	14. Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ienzo informs Demyx that the alterations made to the former Organization members were part of an experiment.

XIV.

Future

"…What?" Demyx asked.

Ienzo sighed. He sat down. "You were always the most drastic and extensive case," he explained. "But when we all woke from reformation, we  _all_  had something wrong with us. Dilan's memories took many days to align, and some are missing still. Aeleus was paralyzed for several days. Even suffers from vertigo. And I can't summon my lexicon, and my powers seemed to have shifted in terms of how I portray other's memories. We had thought—having no previous data or record of any of this ever happening—that reformation wasn't foolproof, or perfect. The process is too chaotic; it favors entropy. We had thought for a long while that this is just the way things naturally will be. But… it changed the day you appeared.

"We had thought you reformed on your homeworld, and that you had moved on. But when we found you, so brutalized in that way, I began to suspect that our conditions weren't so natural after all. And something else confirmed it."

"What was that?" Demyx asked. He didn't want to know. He was too tired for this.

"Lea," Ienzo said. "There's nothing wrong with Lea."

"How can you tell? Perhaps he's lying," Dilan said. He came closer to the table.

"Well, we had considered that. But there are markers. Signs," Ienzo asserted. "There's a sort of haziness in the pupil. We all have it. Lea does not."

"Why him?" Demyx asked.

"So the numbers add up," Dilan spat. He shook his head. "Thirteen darknesses, seven lights."

"But why were  _we_  altered?"

Ienzo shook his head. "I'm not so sure. We have several theories."

"And with Ten's information yesterday…" Even frowned. "We don't think this was about pacification, or an elimination of witnesses. It was an experiment."

Demyx and Dilan looked at each other. Dilan's jaw was tight. "For what?"

"Many things. Breaking down a being, but without darkness. Manipulating the natural order of a form. And, possibly, controlling someone against their will without darkness."

"And why would he do that?" Dilan continued. "We know he has darkness on his side."

Ienzo sighed. "I cannot say. But darkness can be fought, potentially cured. Something like this… cannot. I'm hoping that his reports will shed some light on the matter. He's so thorough…. There must be record somewhere of some seed of a plan."

A significant pause. "…You went back," Even said.

"It seemed imprudent not to. All of the paperwork is still there in carbon copy."

Even's eyes burned. "After what happened with Sora, we had agreed—"

Ienzo stood. "I refuse to abandon such vital information," he said. "It's time we accept what we did. If we can find anything that might do the slightest good, then it won't have all been in vain. Don't you agree?"

Dilan scoffed. "What could there possibly be? How many experiments were carried out?"

Silence. Even and Ienzo looked at one another. "You were there," Even said evasively.

"I was a castle guard. Not a researcher."

"Ansem the Wise had any number of ideas," Ienzo said. "We performed quite a few tests. And Xehanort was the most prolific of us all."

"You have his records?" Dilan asked.

"He… he kept very few," Ienzo admitted. "But Even and I have many, as well as our personal journals. I'm hoping to triangulate our observations. Maybe I noticed something, or Even did, and we wrote it down, and that might help us infer more about his plans for us."

Dilan shook his head. Demyx sipped at the coffee. His stomach churned.

"There's nothing else to do but wait," Ienzo said. "If he has a power like this, there's no telling what he could do."

Even pursed his lips. "Then I will go with you." He turned to Demyx and Dilan. "I'd recommend you rest. We have no idea what will come."

* * *

He dreamt in vivid snarls that night. Memories ran through his fingertips like sand. No more plains; a city, now. The city was made of stone and empty bazaars. His mother, teaching him how to read. Leaving for hours at a time at night. She had used to sing, in the time before, but not so much now. She grew thin. The kohl on her face would leave black smears. They had been in drought for years. Thirst was a thin film in the back of their throats; joint pain was a constant. She would tell him the legend sometimes when she returned at daybreak, about the rains that would come, and that they would know because they would hear spirit's music. The music, it was said, would sound exactly like a—

He woke up then. The image melted behind his eyes. Rain battered the window in the dark, and a cool draft touched the sweat on his face. She had used to sing. He couldn't remember what it sounded like.

 _I am so tired_ , he thought. He wanted to sleep for a while more; maybe a year or so, until things calmed down or until Sora murdered Xehanort.

And then? Then what would he do? Where would he go? No music, no friends, no money. He really was nothing. He lay back down. His body seemed to weigh heavily against the sheets. A weighty loneliness held him there, sharp and scrabbly, and made him feel vaguely desperate for some kind of positive human contact. He stayed there, not sleeping and barely thinking, until his stomach grew too empty to permit stillness.

He found Aeleus in the kitchen. His injured arm was in a sling, and his face was tense and red with pain.

"So, uh, how are you feeling?" Demyx asked. He was sure Aeleus was supposed to be resting.

The man nodded.

"Must be pretty painful," he said. "Why don't you go back to bed?" He remembered the days of scalding agony when they had fixed his own bones.

Aeleus ignored the comment. "Meeting later," he grunted.

"Fuck," he said. He rested his head in his hand.

"Precisely," Aeleus agreed.

"Well—let me at least get you something to eat—"

Aeleus held up his good hand and shook his head.

He fixed his meal and sat at the table.

"Your power returns," Aeleus said. "I felt it."

He hesitated. "Even was really jealous. Kept going on about how much he could have used me. Before, you know."

Aeleus nodded.

"It's… really hard," he continued. "It used to be so easy, you know? So effortless. And I never got tired. But now it's just a big mess? And everything hurts. If I keep puking every time I try something big I'm never going to get anywhere. Plus it's gross."

Aeleus shrugged. "You're growing."

"It doesn't make sense. How can I grow if… if my heart is fractured, or whatever? And I'm not growing. I was way more powerful before."

"Were you?" he asked. He leaned into his good hand and patted his sweaty forehead with a kerchief.

Demyx knew medicine was perfectly useless in his situation, but felt sorry for him anyway. "Well, yeah. I couldn't drown. I couldn't be poisoned. That could make it pretty inconvenient for bad guys." That also depended on your definition of  _bad guys_.

"You couldn't feel, either. Water is malleable. It yields to emotion and humanity, and carries energy. It's not like earth."

"If I'm more powerful, then why is it shredding me?"

"Empathy. You can feel. You felt the pain in the water when it was tainted with darkness."

Demyx shook his head.

"You felt my pain during the surgery. And I yours."

The blood rushed to his face.

"You will heal," Aeleus said with a nod. "And you will be dangerous."

He was no longer hungry. "Please stop," he said softly. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Nine," Aeleus said. "It is simply true. I must… I must rest." He struggled to a stand and hobbled out of the room.

Demyx's heart beat faster as he walked the halls. He was supposed to be going somewhere, right? The meeting? Doing something? Was the ventilation off? It seemed like the air wasn't working.

Dangerous. Aeleus didn't speak in long expository breaths like the others. Possibly he had meant something else.

But wasn't he right? Demyx felt the weight of the castle through its pipes right now. One wrong move and the right pipe could burst and a support could come crashing down and someone could be hurt.

And the reservoir. If he left the castle, the water still ran through the town. He could flood the streets if he couldn't contain the power.

He didn't even need a body of water. A person was enough. Fluid in the lungs, a burst blood vessel, a ruptured bladder. It would be so quick. As time passed and his power returned to him, more volatile and uncontrollable than before, what could he do? How much control did he really have over himself? Was this what Luxord's Somebody meant by  _sleeper agent_? Sleep. His power was asleep, or had been. Has Sora's light woken it the rest of the way up?

He sat down before his knees gave out and heard his own frantic breaths. He felt the subtle tug of the weight above him; omnipresent but unmoving. His own blood prickled in his veins.

His power had never exploded out of him before. He tried to find solace in that. Even if it had been hard to manipulate or painful, nothing in him had ever snapped.

But then he remembered the paralyzing terror he'd experienced after Sora cleared away the darkness. Sora had changed something in him, Luxord's Somebody had said. Was that it?

He couldn't feel his teeth. Was he dying? Was something happening right now?

"Oh, Nine. Here we are again, are we?"

He jerked his head in the direction of the voice. Luxord's Somebody waited patiently in the light of a nearby window. "Just leave me alone," he said. "I don't have time for your bullshit."

Ten came over and squatted next to him. ""Bullshit" is subjective, I think." He pulled a lilac kerchief from his pocket and handed it to him. "Over the nose and mouth. There's a good chap."

It felt like being smothered, but it seemed to help loosen the airway. "I've heard enough theories and epitaphs today. I don't need any more."

"Alright. Then I won't say anything." Luxord took out his cards and began shuffling them. "You never were one for poker. Gin rummy? Blackjack? Or maybe just some Go Fish." He dealt several cards to Demyx, but he didn't touch them.

"Why are you still here?" he asked. He clutched the handkerchief in his hand. It was warm from his breath, and slightly damp.

""Why" is subjective too," Ten said.

"You can leave any time. There must be some reason. And I know you could care less. You don't want to be involved." His eyes felt swollen and a few more tears wormed out.

Ten took Demyx's cards back and began to play solitaire. "Desire and involvement are in no way correlated," he said after a long moment. "He chose me all those years ago, so here I am, to watch the train wreck. So to speak."

"…We really are fucked, aren't we?"

Ten chuckled. "A teenager with a Keyblade versus some thirteen omniscient beings. I rather feel sorry for  _them_."

He swallowed. He tasted blood; he'd bitten the inside of his cheek. "You see the future," Demyx said.

"I see  _time_. Time changes. It's fluid. It isn't linear. There are millions of futures at any given moment. Everything changes. So you choose to eat toast for breakfast instead of oatmeal. Everything's different again. The butterfly effect. You've heard of it, yes?" He put the cards back into his pocket.

He nodded and mopped his eyes.

"There are futures where Sora wins. There are futures where  _he_  wins. If any of this can be considered winning. And there are futures where nobody wins, at all. I really don't see much very clearly. It's like snatches of dreams. The human body is not built to contain such power. Any power, really." He exhaled.

"…So what's the point?" Demyx asked dryly. "Of this? Of any of this?"

Ten frowned. "Where do you stand when it comes to the fight?"

"Against him?" Demyx paused. "I just… I just want to live. I don't want to deal with this. He messed me up enough. I don't want to hurt anybody." Ten continued to stare at him contemplatively.

"You have to admit you're in a unique situation. One that could, quite possibly, allow you to see the other side of the coin. As it were." He canted his head, as if listening to something. "Look at me, I've made you late. Get to your meeting." And then he disappeared as if into thin air, leaving no trace of himself other than the purple cloth in Demyx's hands.


	15. Game Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sora has a proposition for Demyx, prompting him to learn to fight, and later to make a decision that will change everything.

XV.

Game Plan

Demyx's chest began to ache dully as he sat down in the meeting room. The talk had already started, so nobody really paid him any mind. Even Yuffie's gaze was milder than usual, more bored than hostile. He was too busy trying not to be noticed that he didn't see Sora until a few minutes later.

Sora didn't talk, and he barely seemed to be listening. His face looked drawn and exhausted, and he kept looking at the watch on his wrist. He caught Demyx's gaze and gave him half of a forced smile. Demyx looked away and saw Aeleus dabbing his sweaty forehead.

"So glad you joined us," Aerith said to Demyx. There didn't seem to be any irony or sarcasm in her voice. Then, to Aeleus, "I understand that there's been a lot going on over here. I'd like to take a look at that arm of yours."

"There's nothing more to be done," Even said before Aeleus could respond.

"If you say so," Aerith conceded. "Leon… where were we?"

"Sora was going to talk about his findings. Weren't you?" Leon prodded. Sora's head snapped up.

"What?"

"Your… your report, Sora?" He offered.

"Oh… right. That. Sorry. I'm pretty tired." He swallowed. "The reservoir is free of darkness. So are the labs. You guys should be okay getting back to work on the town."

Leon waited expectantly.

"That's pretty much it," Sora said. He fussed with his watch. "Pooh's doing great. Their world is one of the only ones that's untouched right now. As for everywhere else…" He paused. "You know, I'm not sure what else there is to do."

There was a lengthy and considerable silence. A pained expression twitched across Yuffie's face for a moment.

"What do you mean?" Leon asked. "Here? We're fine here."

"No. In general." Sora sat up. "I'm so… I keep following the vessels, you know. They have so many  _people_  on their side. They… they get convinced that darkness will help them, that it's worth fighting for. It spreads so much more quickly than I can undo. Even if I'm with Donald and Goofy. Even if I'm with Riku."

"…So we need to get ready to face the vessels," Lea said. Demyx noted his hesitation.

"No. Well, yes, but…" Sora paused again. "Even if they're gone… even if  _he's_  gone… I wonder if the poison he's spread will ever be able to be stopped. And we're just not ready for the fight. I know it has to happen eventually. But will we be ready before a lot of people get hurt?"

Yuffie slammed her hands on the table. "That's stupid! You're being stupid," she yelled at Sora. "We can  _always_  stop darkness. We've done it before again and again and we've always come back."

"I used to think the same. But now he reaches so far that we can't get a single move in edgewise. He knows  _everything._  And nobody who seems to know can tell me his plan. Because if I know, then he'll know I know, and it's a big mess. And I… don't know what to do." Sora's hands tightened around his upper arms. "Guys, I don't know." His watch beeped and he groaned. "I have to go. Hey. I have to talk to you." He gestured to Demyx.

"Uh, now?"

Sora gestured for him to follow. They wandered out of earshot out of the rest of the group.

"You, uh, alright?" Demyx asked him.

"I'll be fine. I wish I could tell them that I can fix this. But I don't know how."

"And you're not used to that," he said without thinking.

Sora hesitated. "I'm sort of in a hurry," he said instead. "I wanted to apologize, first of all. Not just for… the fight. But for the other day. I hope the light helped you in a good way. I know I'm not exactly where I wanna be right now because of it. And I… I know you can help the town, with your power. All of you can. Please take care of them. I think… I think you guys could really help."

Demyx was almost dizzy with the surreality of what Sora was asking. "You mean fight with you?"

"If you want to. If it comes to that. I know it's weird and awkward and I'm asking a lot. But I wouldn't if I didn't have to."

He didn't know what to say.

Sora's watch beeped again. "Even if the answer's no, you should learn to fight anyway. Just to protect yourself. And now I'm really late!" He forced a smile and set off practically at a jog.

Demyx wandered back to the meeting room in a daze. His head was spinning, partially from the irony of what Sora had asked, mostly from bewilderment. Here was someone powerful  _needing_  him. It was an icky feeling.

The meeting had mostly broken up. Lea sauntered over to him. "What did Sora want?" He asked in a low voice.

Demyx told him in a few clipped sentences. "It's so… weird…"

"Whatever all of your choices end up being, he has a point," Lea said. "You've been wandering around town unprotected. I know it might feel safe, but I have a feeling it's gonna be a shitstorm."

He looked at his shoes. The sneakers were new to him, but worn. The toes were scuffed. "I don't think I know how. Aeleus was training me before, but that was like, so I didn't die. And I don't want to bother him more right now."

Lea smiled. It was empty. "You don't remember all the things you learned in Organization boot camp?" He laughed. "We can get together tomorrow, all right? Come to my district. Just bring yourself." He waved and headed off.

Demyx turned. He saw Yuffie and Leon talking in low voices, heatedly; Yuffie looked upset. Aerith saw him staring and smiled. "I'm so glad you're okay," she said. "We should have tea sometime."

"Sure," he said.

"Are you coming back to work soon? We've missed you."

He'd almost forgotten about the water project. "Yeah. I'm sorry. There's so much going on…."

"I completely understand." She touched his shoulder.

"It's not  _right_ , Squall!" Yuffie yelled. She left the room, her face drawn. Aerith sighed.

"Is she still mad?" she asked.

Leon closed his eyes. "She's always mad. This didn't help. I had hoped… that Sora would give us more to work with."

"You really can't blame him. He's a  _child_. Anyone with half a mind can see he's burning out fast. He's doing his best with a complicated situation." She squeezed Leon's hand.

"I feel so helpless," Leon said. "Watching all this happen…"

"Me, too," Demyx offered. "But it sounds like the town needs you."

He nearly smiled. "You're right. I guess I'll see you soon, then."

* * *

The next morning, around midday, he slipped out of the castle and headed to Lea's.

He didn't know what to expect. Yes, Organization training had taught him the very basics, but not only was he rusty, he was  _weak._  He'd never been much of a hand with weapons, and even though he knew disarming blows, they would all be virtually useless on anyone or anything he'd potentially fight. He felt ridiculous already.

Lea was waiting for him amongst the rubble, smoking a cigarette. "Morning." He climbed down. He'd pulled back most of his hair. "I've got something for you to borrow." He unclasped the brown holster around his waist. Demyx had never seen it before, but it was finely crafted—the leather burnished. Inside was a reasonably sized dagger, with a bone handle. The blade glinted blue in the light.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

"Of course. It was never really mine, anyway. I stole it from a pirate." He smiled. He took it back and held the knife up. "I musta been your age, I guess. One of our first missions to Port Royal. The dude was wasted and picking on some prostitute, so I knocked him out and stole all his stuff. I was so proud. But hey, I'm swimming in more than enough weapons." He laughed. "I know it looks delicate, but it's made of some improbable alloy. You need something small, anyway. I don't picture you with a sword. Your best bet is to be fast and sharp." He jabbed the dagger, then sheathed it.

He wasn't sure how to respond. "…I didn't realize you were such a connoisseur," he said.

"Nah, I just always had to know what I'm doing." He handed the weapon over, and Demyx slipped the holster around his waist. It felt awkward and heavy against his left hip. Lea stubbed out his cigarette.

"Thank you," he said, because it seemed necessary.

"Well, I didn't give it to you to look pretty." He summoned his Keyblade. "Let's get to work."

* * *

Demyx knew Lea was being easy on him. He was still getting his ass kicked. It was sundown, and the Keyblade was at his throat. Again.

"Better. You almost had me that time," Lea said. He fussed with his hair.

"You're lying," Demyx said, dragging himself up again, almost catching his hand on the knife. Damn thing. He would probably hurt himself more than anyone else.

"I really mean it."

He flexed his neck. He was more or less covered in bruises, and he could already tell how sore he'd be in a few hours. "Sure."

"Well, you are doing great. For a beginner." He stretched.

"Do you ever get tired of it?" Demyx asked, sheathing the knife. His shirt was stuck to him with sweat. He hated feeling grimy like this, unkempt. It made him feel less in control.

Lea yawned. "What do you mean?"

"Fighting."

He considered this. "Let's get a damn drink."

They returned to Lea's house. A swath of paperwork covered the table, but before Demyx could read it, Lea cleared it away and crammed it on one of the shelves.

"For the record, I'm fucking exhausted," Lea said. He took a glass bottle, half full, from one of the cabinets.

"I guess heroing is differing than you thought," he said.

Lea poured them both drinks, set the bottle down, and after a moment of thought, took it with him to the living room. "It feels the same," he admitted. "Like in the Organization. Exhausting, complicated, stupid… I just switched sides. I don't think I've slept more than an hour or two a night all week."

"…If you were so tired, you didn't have to train with me all day." He sipped at the drink. It was the same liquor as last time.

"I offered." Lea lit a cigarette and leaned back against the couch. "If Sora propositioned you, then you should be able to defend yourself."

He laughed weakly. "It's so funny. And so  _weird_. Apparently I have the power to turn the fucking tide, or whatever." He looked at his glass, and then downed the rest in a swallow.

"It's not just you." Lea followed suit. "He wants all the old Organization members. With good reason. You're  _all_  powerful, and you could really help in the fight. I know you're helping hold down the fort, and Ienzo is trying to figure out what's wrong with all of you. And it's true that, if you joined us, it could be exactly what Xehanort wants. But a few broken chips are better than no chips at all." He poured them out another drink.

"You're not altered," Demyx said. He was starting to feel woozy already, courtesy of an empty stomach. "What's the proof on this?"

"'Hundred or so. Don't worry, I won't let you drink yourself silly."

"You know I've never really been drunk before? Isn't that weird?"

"I'd say you're well on your way." Lea laughed a little darkly. "It's hard for me, too. My metabolism's too fast. It figures. I can finally do what I want with my life, and not only do I voluntarily throw myself in the fight, but I can't even get fucking hammered properly."

He laughed, too. "You have all your memories, though. Don't you?"

"…Yeah." He tapped ash into a bowl. "I almost wish I didn't."

Demyx nursed his second drink. "I'm scared," he admitted. He pretended it was the alcohol making him say that.

"Of course. Shit, me too."

"Of my memories. I don't know what weird shit happened to make me a Nobody. I'm scared of remembering."

"It's not… pleasant." Lea looked up at the ceiling. "Damn. I have spiders again. When I reformed I remembered things for days. I'd try to make myself some fucking coffee and I'd remember all the awful shit that I'd done or all the awful shit that  _had_  been done to me. I admit it. I cried like a baby."

He looked at his glass and was surprised to find it empty. His legs felt heavy when he moved.

"…Starting to feel buzzed?"

"Yeah." He lay down. "Can I have another?"

"Alright, but then I'm cutting you off." Glass against glass and liquid pouring. "I guess that's why I came to Sora so quickly. I figured it would bring my conscience back towards zero."

"Lea." It was getting hard to talk. "How much of this is actually our fault?"

Silence. Demyx heard him smoking.

"Lea?"

"I'll tell you this because you're not sober. Too fucking much. We may have harvested Heartless, which theoretically might have saved a few lives. But we also planted darkness. Manipulated people in power. Hurt others for our own gain. Caused worlds to fall. Persuaded people to do things they'd never think of on their own. Murder. Kidnapping. Worse. And for what? In the end, we weren't even the real deal."

Demyx sat up to drink and got himself another. "Oh, god," he said. He didn't know which god he was referring to.

"And that doesn't even count the lab. You know I brought them there? The… the participants? They thought they were contributing towards something good. Public knowledge, and all that. But then we locked them up and we tortured them and we broke them.  _Shit_. How many did I fucking have?" The bottle was empty.

"I dunno. Wasn't paying attention."

"Be  _so_  glad you weren't part of it, Demyx.  _So_  glad. I was jealous of you for it. Or as jealous as I could be."

The small part of him that could still think clearly noted this. The room was spinning a little. He felt tears in his eyes for no reason at all. "I feel weird."

"You're just drunk. It'll pass."

"No." The carpet was scratchy against his neck. "Just… in general. I don't feel like me."

"Tell me about it," he muttered.

"I just… want…" He could feel his lungs working inside him. "I have to pee."

"Then go, buddy."

Standing was treacherous. When he was done, he looked at himself blurrily in the bathroom mirror. He wasn't sure he liked how this felt. He poked at the swollen skin under his eyes. He had to hold the door frame for support.

He held still for a moment in the hallway. His mouth was starting to feel numb, too. He heard something funny happening in the other room, but his hearing wasn't working like normal. He poked his head back into the living room and saw Lea, knees pressed into his chest, sobbing.

* * *

Morning. An itchy blue couch. His head was pounding and he felt sick to the stomach. "…Motherfucker," he said out loud, putting his head into his hands. He'd never been drunk like that before, and now he was paying for it.

On the ground next to him was a mug of water, two little pills, and a note.

_D—_

_Duty calls. Feel free to help yourself to all my splendor, and drink a lot of water. Meet me back here tomorrow._

_-L_

He went into the bathroom and threw up in the dark. After that, he felt slightly better. He drank down several glasses of water and the little blue pills and for a moment sat still. His muscles were practically throbbing from yesterday's work.

Despite the wicked hangover, he hadn't blacked out. He could still remember—though not clearly—what had happened last night.

It made sense now why Lea did what he did. Aeleus was right—he really was repenting, or at least trying to salve the massive guilt.

Demyx was guilty, too. They all were.

Despite the pain his head was clear. He was going to have to fight with them. The thought was surprising liberating, moreso than the thought of having no choice but to ride this out on the sidelines. "I'm fighting with Sora," he said out loud, just to hear it. He laughed until his sides hurt even worse than before, and because he was hungover and achy and hungry he indulged himself in a good cry. Afterwards he cleaned himself up, and took stock, with a curiously hardened sense of resolve.


	16. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx makes a decision that will ultimately change everything.

XVI.

Resolution

Lea only had a few hardened pieces of bread. Demyx settled for instant coffee. As it boiled he sat listlessly at the card table. While Demyx had slept off the alcohol, Lea had spread the paperwork out messily in any direction. Some of the pages were coffee stained, though legible. He wasn't sure whether to read them or not; after all, this was Lea's, and none of his business. Demyx cleared a small spot for himself, and text caught his eye.

It was Demyx's handwriting. His  _own_  handwriting. Reservations aside, he snatched it. He recognized the header on the paper right away—Organization paperwork.

How did Lea have this?

It was just a reconnaissance report, from several weeks spent on a world he'd remembered as particularly lovely; it had been targeted for its strategic placement in the galaxy. The few clipped, stunted sentences on the report didn't do the place real justice.

There were more. Not just his reports, but others' reports—some of Dilan's, Aeleus's, work orders completed within the castle. Papers about all their second-strand Nobodies. Each had been given a number, but Demyx remembered naming all of his.  _David. Iggy. Janis. Grace._

_316 woke up today. I worked with them for a little while. They really like reggae for some reason. Maybe that has something to do with where they're from? Look into this._

At the bottom of the report was a big "yes" in Saïx's handwriting, followed by, "Get it combat ready ASAP."

He had always hated that, though, and how eventually he would feel the little  _ping_  of their loss in his consciousness. It hadn't caused much pain then, but it wasn't pleasant, either. Even with his powers back he still didn't feel that same connection to the hivemind of the Dancers, probably because he himself was no longer technically a Nobody. They must all be human now, he tried to reassure himself. Then again, if they were as fucked up as he was, maybe it was better if they were gone.

At the bottom pile was older stuff, darker stuff. Reports by Xigbar.  _Planet X fell. Swarmed by Heartless. Barely had to lift a finger._ Demyx saw a dozen at least like these. His stomach felt still sicker.

Mixed in were gray file folders of their personnel reports. Demyx saw his and felt his heart stutter. Maybe his true name was in there, or  _something_  useful. He snagged the folder and tried to quell his breathing.

The first page was an intake form. It was more or less the same as any of the second strand Nobodies, with sparer information. His number was listed first, in Roman numerals, not Arabic like the rest. His given name was listed, but the small box was blacked out, with "redacted" handwritten in white. He held the paper up to the light, trying to see the printed letters through the marker, but the ink was completely opaque. Like a lot of things.

His chest began to ache. His homeworld info had received similar treatment. His power, weapon, and skillset was listed, and there was an unflattering picture of him at the beginning, zombie-eyed and shorn-haired, face still childish. There was only one small piece of information that was new to him. His birthday, October 19, and the birth year, telling him for the first time that he was nineteen years old. Nearly twenty.

"Nineteen." He felt so much older than that, a million years old really.

At the bottom were yearly reviews, written in pencil by Saïx.

The first year— _Nine has proven to be a capable worker—when he sets his mind to it. He has an incredible potential for laziness. His power still grows, as does he. With proper discipline he'd be a perfect member yet._ The second and third years listed a clear decline in his work ethic, and Saïx's aggression became less and less veiled.  _Absolutely USELESS. Lazy. Incompetent. Complete and utter waste of resources._

Then the fourth year, right as Sora had destroyed them all— _Terminated. DOD 6 March._  Three months ago. He'd only been conscious since April. How much time had actually passed? He'd known he'd lost some time in recovery; he hadn't realized just how long. It was true that time flowed differently on all worlds, but he didn't buy it. Something wasn't adding up.

Demyx's hands were shaking. He set the reports down and tried to fix them the way he had found them. He realized that the kettle was whistling loudly and had been for some time, worsening the stabbing pain in his head.

He drank the coffee down too quickly and nearly scalded his tongue. He left Lea's house, walking fast even though his legs complained, and headed back to the castle.

The hangover mostly abated after he ate something and bathed. He was so sore he could barely raise his arms high enough to get a shirt on. He couldn't figure out what to do now and loitered for far longer than he should in the kitchen, trying hard not to think about the reports, and the lies.

"Good afternoon, Nine. I thought you had spent the night at Lea's. How did it go?" Ienzo asked. He started to make himself some tea.

"Oh. Good, I guess. I'm pretty sore."

"I would imagine. Might I join you?"

"Uh, sure." He paused. He tried to find the steely sense of resolve he had felt that morning. "I have something to tell you."

"What would that be?" He stirred his tea calmly.

Demyx's throat was dry. He forced a laugh. "I, um. I want to fight."

Ienzo went still for a moment. "I'm not sure I follow."

"I want to fight. This. I want to  _help_."

"You… you do?" He spoke slowly.

"Yes." He laughed again, as hysteria twined into him. "Oh, fuck. I got pretty drunk last night and I guess I had some sort of epiphany."

"You're sure," Ienzo said. "I know  _in vino veritas_ , but perhaps… perhaps it was just a passing impulse."

"That's the thing." His eyes were tearing up again and he blinked it away. "It's been a while since I felt this sure."

"…What if this is what he wants?" Ienzo asked.

"I don't care what  _he_  wants! I…" He took a deep breath. "I can't just sit on this guilt and do  _nothing._ "

Ienzo looked down. Demyx couldn't read his expression.

"I found my birthday," he said more softly. "October. I'm nineteen."

"I know." Ienzo smiled weakly. "I forget that little more than a year separates us."

He wondered if he should tell him the rest. "Lea has… Lea has paperwork. From the Organization."

"I'm aware."

"That means he's gone back. How has he gone back without getting killed?"

"We didn't want him to go back. This was during Sora's Mark of Mastery. He's brought back useful information. I was hoping… that he could find some sort of clue, about our conditions. But it all seemed paltry to me. Accounts. Reports. Pittances of things that we already knew." Ienzo hesitated. "We had almost wanted him to surrender to them; to be a double agent. But that was before he started screaming his alignment from the rooftops."

"Are you fighting too?" Demyx asked. "Have we… have we all…?"

"Yes and no. I'm trying to gather as much as I can, as fast as I can. I don't think we'll be much use until we're all healed. If we're not,  _he_  could use that against us." He set down his mug and looked Demyx in the eye. "There was a thought, at the beginning, to make  _you_  the double agent."

"Ten already thinks that's what they're trying to do, by fucking me up," he added. His voice was steady but he was faint.

"You have to admit there's some appeal," Ienzo said. "Your powers are returning rapidly. You're skilled at gathering intelligence. Besides, there's little the other side doesn't know. If we sent you… let you drop some few spare things… maybe we could get a return."

"I don't think I could get them to trust me. I never could find out what was going on in the Organization."

"Perhaps not. But you have the will to, apparently, when before you didn't."

Demyx stared at the table and traced the woodgrain. "…You mean go to them. Beg for mercy, to be healed… and then be among them."

"…Yes. That was the basic plan."

His heart clanged in his ears.

"Obviously this would be after you became considerably stronger. And they need you to mend the town. If our other plans proceed at the predicted rate… Perhaps… in the fall, sometime."

Demyx laughed. "Happy birthday to me!"

"You should tell the committee of your… change of thought. Just so they're aware."

"…I feel dizzy, Ienzo." His hands trembled. "Is this a stupid thing to do?"

"I do not know, Nine. I really don't."

* * *

He hunted in the storage room for useful things. His heart still hammered against his ribs. He needed to fix the guitar, to get his mind off of all this. Otherwise he thought he'd throw up.

He needed wood, for the fingerboard. The leg of a chair or dresser would do. It would need to be cut, sanded down, and finished. There had to be sandpaper and finish somewhere… even if it was ugly, it would do. And something for frets. Even if he found tape he could cut it. Pegs… maybe there was something among the lab equipment that could work?

The hardest would be strings. He'd probably have to buy or trade for them. He only had the measly amount of money that had been on his person when Sora had killed him. But Heartless had some money… When he could fight better he could go after them.

He found a songbook on the floor, waterlogged and half chewed by mice. He held it gently in his hands. This must have originally accompanied the guitar; it wasn't far from it. The pages were brittle and swollen. The first few pages detailed the parts of the guitar. The tide of his excitement caused him to flip through page after careful page. Even though the tablature might as well have been runes for all he understood, he could learn, right? There was still time. At least, for now—

But he didn't find much of anything else. If there was anything good, he didn't come across it in his search, and he searched for some time. Was there anywhere else he could look? Would the sitar ever get back to him? Or would he just be like this—so weird and so fucking numb all the time—until this war inevitably killed him? If  _Sora_  had been able to cut him down so easily when he was at his strongest, what about the other vessels? What if this meant more than espionage? And if he got caught by them? Would any of this actually be worth it, in the end?

He gave up after sundown, and found it hard to get much sleep, a sick stinging anxiety keeping him up most of the night.

The next day a note for him arrived from the committee, calling him back to work. He'd only been away a few days but it felt like so much longer. He followed the path deeper into town, with the weight of the knife steadying him.

Demyx arrived where they'd told him, near the castle. A massive crane had been set up, and new stone connected the old aqueducts with the rest of the town. He saw Cid sitting inside the cab, yelling indiscriminately, but it was too hard to hear because of the noise.

"Oh good! You're here!" he yelled at Demyx when he saw them. "Do you like this new setup we've got?!"

"What are you doing?"

"What was that?!"

"I said, what are you doing?"

"Hang on, I'm coming down!" The engine stopped rumbling. Cid climbed down and checked his ears. "Post-industrial piece of shit," he explained. "But it's what we've got. We always had plans to build out the aqueduct. With this place mostly in ruins, we've got to get this going before you can step in fully. Those repairs we did earlier were to try and connect the old system to the new. I'm afraid to say that today, you're more an extra pair of hands than anything."

He was still so sore he wasn't sure he'd be much use. "Uh… okay."

"Yuffie and Leon are up top, patching everything up. I'm guessing you don't know much about masonry."

Reconnaissance had supplied him with a weird amount of knowledge for all sorts of things. He'd studied far too many industrial parks. "…More than you'd think."

"Then up you go. Careful on that scaffolding." He gestured to wooden supports built up some few stories in the air.

He exhaled and climbed diligently. His arms were jelly by the time he got up top.

"Thanks for showing up," Yuffie said, voice bitter. They were both kneeling down on the highest part of the scaffolding, spackling on a thick gray mortar over cracks in the stone with trowels. They were getting nowhere fast. "Pick up a trowel and get to work."

"There are some tools over there." Leon gestured to a toolbox sitting just behind them, near a few bags of dried mortar. "You might want to grab a pair of work gloves."

He did so and returned. He could already tell this would be painful, tedious work, but he was already here, and if he was going to work with them, there would be a lot more painful, tedious work coming. It would have to be worth it, he told himself. Maybe there really  _was_ a way for them to heal him. Maybe they hadn't found it yet. If Aerith and Ienzo worked together…

For a while they built in near perfect silence, laying and cementing stone in the hollows between reclaimed pieces. Very quickly a burn set in his arms and he had a feeling time was passing a too slowly.

"Why not just use pipes?" Demyx asked. He rolled his shoulder to try and ease the pain.

"We don't have any," Leon said. "We've got to work with what was left from all the other destroyed districts. This will all hold up better, eventually."

More silence. The pain had him near tears, heaving bricks to and fro, but he forced himself not to complain because Yuffie was right there.

"Lea told me he was teaching you to fight," Leon said.

Yuffie peeked through her bangs.

"…I guess that's true," Demyx said.

"It's reasonable. You shouldn't wander unprotected. Nobody should." Leon wiped the sweat from his brow. "He told me you were interested in standing with us."

Yuffie looked up fully. Her gaze was bemused, but uncomfortable.

"We'd be happy to have you," Leon continued.

"How would you trust him?" Yuffie asked. She scoffed. "How would you know he wouldn't…"

Leon gave her a look. "Wouldn't  _what_ , Yuffie?"

"I don't know. They hurt people.  _You_  hurt people. What about the Thousand Heartless?" Her tone was sharp and she spackled a bit more harshly than necessary.

"They sent me there to die," Demyx said. He tried to make it sound matter-of-fact, but he was starting to get pissed. "They wanted Sora to kill me and he did and that's that."

"But say you had stopped him—"

This again. "But I didn't." The sun was beating harshly on his face. "I never had a fucking chance."

"Yuffie. Stop. Please." Leon's tone was sharp.

"I've gotta get out of here. I'm gonna go help Cid." She slipped down the scaffolding and was gone.

Demyx's stomach hurt. He took a deep breath.

"Yuffie holds a grudge," Leon said. "I'm guessing you already figured that out."

He didn't know what to say. He was so mad he could practically see red. "I'm trying to do the right thing. Does she think I don't know? Does she think I don't feel that way all the time?" The mortar was cool against his hands.

Leon nodded. "I understand it was… complicated."

More silence. The pain in his arms was grounding. When they broke for lunch he sat off by himself, dangling his legs on the scaffolding and trying to find some flavor in his pathetic sandwich. He felt footsteps and weight next to him and saw Yuffie with her plastic container. "Going to yell at me some more?" he asked. He would get up and move, but his exhaustion rooted him to the spot.

"No." Her voice sounded forced. "I came to—ugh—apologize."

"What, did Leon make you?"

She shrugged. "Did they really want to kill you?"

He had no more appetite. "I was terrified," he said. "We were all dying. Half of us were gone. I never cared for their cause, I just did enough work to save my life. I don't think anyone thought the fake Kingdom Hearts would work but we were desperate. Xemnas, he… he said the whole time that this was the answer. We didn't know how to be whole again. You don't know what it's like, Yuffie, the emptiness, it's just this huge… void, inside, gnawing like, these little weird half pops of feeling coming in now and again." He touched his chest and prayed he wouldn't start crying.

She didn't say anything. She looked vaguely pained.

"When they gave me that order to face him… I think they saw me as a burden. Like if they put me there I could buy them some time to make a better plan. I don't know why I didn't just run." A pause. A hot wind had kicked up. "How can you think I'm so bad when you have no idea how you'd act in the same situation?"

"Fuck that." Her tone wasn't as heated as usual, though. "Have you seen a world fall? All the chaos… the bloodshed… knowing that most of them won't get out? Knowing that they'll die, or they'll become Heartless? Or worse?"

 _Planet X fell._  Xigbar hadn't even given the planet a name. How many stories and songs had been lost? He'd seen the reports, heard the whispers of the lesser Nobodies in his consciousness as they reported to him, the fire, the fear, the screaming, waves and waves of boiling darkness. A sharp pain stabbed behind his eyes. "Yes. I have."

"It's how my dad died. I'm sorry. I can't see the shades of gray in this situation." She looked away from him, out onto the rest of the town.

He could hardly believe it. A human conversation. "I never wanted to hurt anyone. I know that I probably did."

She slumped forward. "Me too. Shit. I always wondered if I could have done  _more_  when this place fell. All I could think about was… running."

"You were in danger. It was the instinctual thing to do."

"Maybe someone else should have gone in that ship instead of me. Maybe I should have stayed with my dad." She closed her eyes. "We're going to be working together for a while. Let's at least put up with each other."

This day was too fucking weird. "I can do that."


	17. Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx grows closer to the members of the Restoration Committee.

XVII.

Work

The next few weeks became a bleary slog between work and training. He didn't even have time to try and fix the guitar, but even if he did, he doubted he could. The weather got hotter and drier. He got sorer and sorer, but found that, after a while, those mortar bags weren't so heavy, and he could get through a day without feeling like death.

And he wasn't great with the knife, maybe, but he could at least block things now. The first time he disarmed Lea came as a surprise to both of them. He was finally starting to pick up on the whole "holes in the guard" thing. It was in the timing. There was always a brief break in defense after Lea attacked, of course, when he normally sprang back. Only this time, Demyx was actually able to slip in a solid kick to the stomach and knock Lea off balance. After so many weeks of getting beat up, it was satisfying.

"Well," Lea said, coughing, "It's about fucking time."

* * *

"…You don't remember your parents, do you?"

Talking to Yuffie was still like treading a minefield. However tentative their interactions were—even friendly at times—the wrong thing could make her mad. "Only my mom a little," he admitted. They'd built quite a bit of the aqueduct at that point. The goal was to finish it by summer, so the dry season wouldn't be so straining. "I don't think I ever had a dad."

"My mom died when she gave birth to me." There was pink sunburn across her nose and she scratched at it, getting gray mortar onto her face. "We didn't exactly have an Aerith at that point."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "I never really knew her to miss her."

"Sometimes it feels like I came out of thin air. Or an act of will."

She laughed. "I know how that is. Even my dad, when faced with a kid, was like, what the hell is this? I think that looks pretty good."

The compliment took him off guard. "Uh, thanks. Once I had to watch these guys build a stone wall for days. I had to get into this noble's palace to steal a scroll. Those dark corridors work, but they're pretty conspicuous, so I couldn't just teleport my way in. I guess I picked something up then. I picked up a lot of skills that way. I'm not a half bad potter. I can weave pretty well."

"A lot of marketable skills."

He snorted. "Yeah, right. "Hello mister job man? Here's my résumé. I know it says I was part of an evil organization, but I'm experienced, I promise." Shit. How am I supposed to get a job if we get through all this?"

She sighed. "Hell if I know. They always make it sound like we're fucked."

"We kind of are."

"I don't want to believe that." She heaved down a stone. "We've always fought. We probably always  _will_  fight. We'll pull through."

"What if we don't?" Demyx put down his trowel.

She turned. "What do you mean, if we don't?"

"If we lose."

"Weren't you all just "hey I want to fight with you guys!" a few days ago? You can't  _think_  like that." Her cheeks were turning red. "You're not allowed."

Here we go. "I'm allowed to feel however I want."

"Fuck  _that_." She brushed the dust off of her legs. "Let's go eat. I'm starving."

* * *

Sometimes Demyx would wonder if following through with his drunken epiphany was a good idea. All the evidence pointed to the fact that they would absolutely get crushed. Sora's uncertainty, mounting reports that worlds were flooding with Xehanort's darkness… It didn't look good. And every time he even allowed himself to consider what being a double agent might mean, his heart started to race and he couldn't breathe and the room around him seemed dizzy.

Yuffie was right about some things, though. There wasn't really any way to sit idly by, as tempting as it was. If he bailed now, he'd still be surrounded by the plan making and the statistics and the-this and the-that. There was no escape, literally or figuratively; he didn't have any control over the dark corridors anymore. And where would he go?

Besides… he very nearly had  _friends_. At the end of the day the committee would ask him along to dinner, and they would just…  _hang out_. No talking about the war, or Xehanort… they talked about normal people things. It was a bizarre sensation.

Cid liked to play cards. He had a battered old deck that Demyx was positive he'd marked. Mostly they played—funnily enough—Hearts. It was the only card game that Demyx was competent at.

"You know you're the only one to beat me," Cid said. He tapped out a cigarette and lit another. Cid's smoking was getting heavier and heavier. Demyx didn't know how he afforded it.

"I don't believe that."

"Leon's sick of it and Yuffie's terrible."

He shuffled the deck again. "21?"

"…I guess."

"Where'd you learn all this stuff, kid?"

He shrugged. "Ten. Mostly." Luxord hadn't frequently invited him along to the card parties, but any time he had had certainly been an experience.

Cid dealt them each a few cards. "Say we make this more interesting."

"Good luck with that. I'm broke."

"Say if I win… you buy me a cigarette."

He laughed. "Alright, fine. And if I win… you give me yours."

Cid smirked. "Hit or sit?"

He looked at the two cards on the table in front of him—ace and eight. It was a shame he was never this lucky in real life. "…Sit."

Cid turned over his other card; cool sixteen. With an expression Demyx guessed was supposed to be calm and confident, he pulled another card. A six. "…Motherfucker. All right. A deal's a deal. Though joke's on you, I only have three left." He handed over the pack. "Remind me to never play with you again."

He lit up one of his prizes. "Oh, don't be a sore loser."

Cid grimaced when the smoke hit his face.

* * *

June ended without much comment. Three days of rain trapped them all within their respective houses. This was apparently a sign of the dry season coming. Demyx helped Dilan set up a rain collection tank on the roof.

"Haven't seen hide or hair of you in days," Dilan said gruffly. They both hefted the tank into place on one of the drains.

"Well. We wanted to get most of the aqueduct done to get this rain."

""We."" He gave the tank a solid kick. "Is that connected?"

"Feels like it."

"I'm glad you're at least following your convictions." His tone was bitter.

"What does  _that_  mean?"

"I'm merely surprised."

For a moment he could only stand there, speechless, as rain pattered off of their jackets.

"The situation gets grimmer by the day," Dilan continued. "I figured you, of all people, would be long gone. I admit it gets tempting."

"I can't leave," he said.

"What on earth is holding you here?"

"I can't use the corridors. I don't  _want_  to. Isn't this your home? Don't you care about it?"

Dilan shook his head. "I'm afraid I have nothing left from what made this place home."

In the distance, thunder boomed.

"I don't want you to make any mistakes," Dilan said. "You'll as good as get yourself killed."

Demyx's hands shook.

"Goodness, you needn't listen to me. If this is how you want to waste your life, go ahead." He shook his head and started towards the door.

"I am so sick of people telling me how I should feel or what I should do." His voice was barely audible. "This…  _sage_  advice…"

Dilan didn't look impressed.

"I don't want to hear it anymore. From anyone. I'm… I'm going for a walk."

Dilan shook his head and started towards the door. "Very well."

His clothes were nearly soaking by the time he was down by the ground. He crammed his hands deeper into his pockets. It was raining so hard he could barely see. Cold drops snaked down his neck. His eyes were hot.

He wasn't sure this was the right choice. Not really. But he was doing something good, he was being almost  _normal_. Better than sitting holed up in that castle, bored and alone and stewing in his own memories, conscious of the pressing quiet around him…

The sound of the rain sharpened. The air was humid and hard to breathe.

Ahead he saw a shadow, blobby and black, below the archway leading towards the marketplace. He figured it was some sort of Heartless and drew the knife, but it disappeared.

A human arm tightened around his neck. He floundered and tried to remember what Lea had taught him, but sharp panic clouded his head. Demyx flailed and tried to yell, but a bony hand in a leather glove covered his mouth. He bit one of the fingers hard, but the figure didn't relent. He dropped like a rock, figuring that maybe his weight would take them off guard, but they countered with a sharp kick to his groin. He crumpled and saw stars. He heard them pick up his useless knife and struggled to move, but he hadn't yet caught his breath.

He heard the cut more than he felt it, right into his belly. The figure twisted the handle. Demyx tried to scream but the shock had paralyzed him; he could only exhale sharply.

He was forced onto his back. The figure grabbed at his face. Demyx could only see the maw of the black hood. The figure pulled back his eyelids, took a good look, yanked out the knife, and was gone.

For a moment he lay on his side. Blood spooled out of him, quickly diluted by the rain. He struggled to sit up. He had to yell, to make some sort of noise; he couldn't breathe. The rain seemed squiggly and the wound inside him burned. He sat up and immediately fell as pain crashed through him.

He wasn't going to die like this. He refused.

Darkness encroached his vision and he saw another blur, in violet, coming towards him. He started shivering. He tried to call for help but was too busy passing out.

* * *

Trembling and feverishness all over. The room was blurry and dim. Something sticky and cool clung to his chest and side. His head pounded.

He must have slipped in and out of consciousness. Shadows came into the room and left. He couldn't see well.

A memory smoothly unfurled. "Don't go." His own voice, to his mother, her lying there still in the bed. The air was freezing; a storm was coming. The water looked green. He was on some sort of boat, up high, looking down when the first shadow climbed across the horizon—

The stickiness on his body smelled like menthol. He couldn't focus his eyes but he could see now at least a little. The room was warm in color, dim, and a fire burned in a fireplace at the corner. A brown-haired figure hummed a little tune as she did something at a cabinet against the wall.

He tried to speak. His mouth was so dry. "…Aerith?"

Her head snapped up and she rushed over. "You're awake," she said. She checked his pulse.

"What… what…"

"Don't speak. I'm so glad Yuffie found you when she did…"

He felt like he'd been hit by a freight train. A gummy cloth clung to practically his whole torso. Rain still pattered against the roof. "What day is it?"

"It's only been about twenty-four hours."

"…Really?" He lay still. She poked at the gummy cloth. "What happened?" He vaguely remembered—the shadow, his own knife.

"A Heartless hurt you pretty badly. There's a new pureblood that's very stealthy. It poisoned you."

"…Heartless?"

"It punctured your side." He tried to sit up; she pushed him back down. "I only just was able to remove the poison."

"No, it wasn't a Heartless, it was… something else… A person. I  _saw_  them." He clutched at her sleeve.

"One of the symptoms of the poison is hallucinations. You more than likely made that up." She smiled.

"No." That couldn't be true. "No, I didn't. I swear. They—they stabbed me with my own knife—" So much for not being able to be poisoned. No wonder he'd been able to get drunk so easily.

"Your weapon was in its holster when Yuffie found you." She pointed to a small night table, where the holster lay on top of his shirt and jacket. "It happens. You're not the first person that thing attacked. How do you feel?"

Demyx half believed her. The fight already was distant and faded. He'd only seen the shadow… the maw of the head… how could he be  _sure_ …

He knew that beading and those zippers anywhere.

"My head is killing me."

"I'd be surprised if it didn't. Like a bad hangover, right?"

He shook his head dismissively. "What's this green stuff?"

"It's a healing tissue. I couldn't help but take a crack at those scars. I hope you don't mind. It seemed to help at least a little."

He wasn't sure how he felt about it.

"I can probably take it off, actually. I know it's not that pleasant." She pulled at an end of the cloth and helped him sit up. It sounded sticky and wet when it came off his skin and made him shudder. "I know you must feel sick, but you healed well." Most of the stuff was off of him, other than a patch stuck to his side. "Not all patients are so good."

"Or so unconscious."

She shrugged. "How has this rain been treating you?"

"Well, other than getting stabbed—" She yanked at the patch and it came off painfully, causing him to swear.

"The medicine in this tends to fuse with the skin. Nobody likes it," she explained.

He looked at his side, amazed to find no wound, only a red patch. "This healing stuff sure is complicated. Aren't you supposed to just cast Cure and be done?" He remembered his weeks and weeks of recovery, and how he'd always felt like they were dragging it out.

"Cure is nothing but a temporary metabolic boost that'll make the tissue grow back without treating anything. You can get into real trouble that way. Not to mention, get into a serious caloric deficit." She handed him a glass of water. She'd put the green stuff back into a glass jar full of iridescent liquid. "I'm afraid I couldn't do much for these after all." She poked gently at some of the scars.

"It's… all right." He wished he had something to put on to cover himself up. At least she'd left on his underwear.

"You really have been through a lot," she said lightly.

"I guess so." He looked into the glass of water, which shimmered slightly in the poor lighting. "Aerith, how did you know you wanted to fight back?"

She thought about this, twisting the end of her braid. "I never really had any other option. I was… very young when this world fell. It impacted every part of me. I want to make sure that doesn't happen again."

"Is that why you took up healing?"

"Maybe." She drifted in thought for a moment. "I know it must feel different for you and the others."

He laughed awkwardly, sending a spasm of pain through his side. "Well. Some of this mess is our fault. How can we not clean it up?"

""We"? Or "I"?"

Demyx shrugged.

She stood. "Why don't you get some rest? I'll tell everyone that you're okay."


	18. Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx questions Yuffie about what really happened to him. A surprise visitor might be able to do something about Demyx's condition.

XVIII.

Magic

Within a few hours Demyx was well enough to return to the castle. Lea offered to take him; he looked even more gaunt and tired than ever.

"So it looks like our little friend got you," he said. He had a small pouch in his hand, which he tossed up and down in an uncomfortably regular way.

Would Lea believe him? Or gaslight him as well? "I don't think it was a Heartless."

Lea scoffed. "Then what was it?"

Demyx crossed his arms. The wind blowing through the streets was cold. "I think it was one of the vessels."

Lea stopped tossing the pouch. His face remained blank. "Why do you say that?"

"I saw the coat. I'd recognize it anywhere."

The tossing resumed. "How can you be sure?"

"I don't buy the hallucination thing." He shook his head. The sky was still crowded with rainclouds. "It… they… looked at my eyes. I think they were checking for damage."

Lea shook his head. His smile seemed forced. "Then what about the puncture wound on your side? Can't make that up. I saw it. It was pretty gross."

"The figure probably poisoned me when they left."

Lea put a hand on Demyx's shoulder. "No big baddie came to get you, I promise. Yuffie said she saw the Heartless. If you're so worried, go talk to her."

He was starting to get dizzy. "Lea. Tell me you believe me."

"I  _believe_  you're going to be fine. Look. Here we are. Home sweet home."

The castle stared at them. "You're not going to come in?" Demyx asked.

"Nah. I'd love to mingle, but I've got too much to do." He was already leaving.

"Lea," Demyx said. He turned. "Please take care of yourself."

He waved. "Pot calling the kettle black." He disappeared into a dark corridor.

Ienzo was on him as soon as he was within his line of sight near the kitchen. "Oh, thank goodness. How are you feeling?" He grabbed Demyx's wrist and felt for a pulse. "Your color's still off… you didn't come alone, did you?"

"No—Lea walked me—"

Ienzo corralled him into a chair. "Let me see the wound. Where is it?"

"It was on my side—Aerith healed me—" Ienzo poked at Demyx's sides until he found the sore spot. "Ow—stop  _touching_  me."

He relented. "As much as I want to have faith in her abilities, I need to see it for my own eyes."

Demyx crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm fine."

"Nine." His eyes had gone dark. "Let me see it."

"If I do will you leave me alone?"

Ienzo exhaled, and nodded. He pulled up his shirt and undershirt just enough and let Ienzo prod him while slowly simmering in the exasperation. "No scar. No bruising."

"I  _said_  I was fine." He yanked down his shirt. Too many people had seen him exposed for his comfort.

"Any pain? Any discomfort?"

"I'm just kind of sore and headachy." He looked down.

"Not much can be done about that, I'm afraid." Ienzo sat down across from him.

Demyx was tempted to tell him everything. But he figured—given Ienzo's cold reaction when he'd told him about the reformation—that he'd hear the same thing he'd heard from Lea. "…Is there anything left in the cupboards? I'm starving."

Ienzo smiled. "Of course. I can fix us something."

"Well, I'm not  _help_ less—" But before he could even move Ienzo was up.

* * *

It took him a few days to recover completely from the poison. The dry season had officially begun, and Demyx could feel it. The air was sharper and warmer, and his head felt fuzzy. His sense of water was vaguely muted, like hearing sound from another room. He headed to town, mostly to drop in on the committee and see what was going on. Leaflets had been posted on nearly every surface, showing that water rationing had begun, and the steps to follow. Water could only be used during a certain time frame. Everyone was advised to stay out of the heat, especially as the summer deepened.

He followed the trail of flyers and found Yuffie putting them up in the marketplace. "Must be a fun job," he said lamely.

She rolled her eyes. "Good to see you finally off your ass."

He wondered if that were some poor attempt at a joke. "I was just going to see what was up."

She shrugged. "Not a whole lot. There's still more work to be done on the vital systems, but there's not so much time crunch now that the rain's over." She walked down another few feet to post another sign.

"…Oh." He followed her. "Listen… thanks for helping me out."

She smirked. "Say it. "For saving my life.""

He exhaled. ""For saving my life.""

"Yeah, yeah. It's my job." She continued to post signs and he trailed her. "I'm done gloating. Is there something else you need?"

Here, in the shade between buildings, it was a little cooler. "Well… I just wanted to ask something. Lea said you saw the Heartless that hurt me."

She turned to face him for the first time. "I mean I  _think_  I did. It was raining hard and I saw a shadow and smelled darkness. If that's not a Heartless, I don't know what is. Why?"

"Well, I thought…" there was no point in telling her. "No reason."

She raised an eyebrow. "I know it was weird between us, but I wouldn't  _actually_  hurt you."

"I… I know."

A shopkeeper came out of the shop that Yuffie had been putting flyers on and struck up a conversation. Demyx began to walk away. What if he really had made it up? What if he'd just—?

"Hey!" Yuffie shouted across the square at him. She darted over to him. "I just got a message. Merlin's back. You should come meet him."

"Who?" He gave her a look.

"Merlin? The guy whose house we're always in?" She put her hands on her hips. "The reason why there's magic stuff everywhere?"

"I thought… I thought Cid lived there."

"No! Cid lives in a dump near me. Come on. We're gonna be late!"

She moved so fast by that by the time they got there, he was breathless. The door hadn't even shut behind them before Yuffie was yelling. "Merlin! Where've you been, you old coot?"

"Yes, well, I've—let me put my bag down first. In due time." Merlin was very old, with a long white beard and powder-blue robes. Demyx put two and two together. He'd known, once, that a wizard worked with the committee, but had never caught his name before. Aerith, Cid, and Leon all crowded him as well, peppering him with questions. Leon's low, measured voice clashed with Yuffie's brash one and Cid's chuckling. He wasn't sure what to do with himself.

Merlin stepped slightly away, and caught sight of him. "Oh, yes, I remember you." He adjusted his glasses. "Lea's told me quite a lot in our travels."

"You know Lea?" Demyx asked.

" _Know_  him? Why, I helped him get that Keyblade of his.  _Who_  else knows temporal magic these days?" He reached into the bag at his feet and started to pull out books and various objects from long-term travel—pots and pans from camping, clothing, empty potion and ether bottles. Demyx didn't know how he fit it all in that one small bag.

"…You've lost me," he said.

"Well, of  _course_  the Keyblade chooses its wielder, but one can sort of… manipulate the circumstances, and train the student. All of this takes a very, very long time and we didn't have a very, very long time. I created a pocket where time flowed more slowly. It was beautiful work, if I do say so myself." Merlin looked at the table in the center of the room. "Did you move  _everything_?" He asked the rest of the committee.

"You said make yourselves at home," Cid said.

"Yes, well, I thought—bother—" He pulled out a long bone wand and waved it. Tables, chairs, books, and magical instruments floated from respective spots in the room. Dust rose off of everything and vanished. The stacks of committee reports on the table lifted, organized themselves, and fell into neat piles next to the computer. "Much better."

"Pretty neat," Yuffie remarked to Demyx.

He'd seen all sorts of magic in his life; the Organization's elemental powers, black magic, white magic. This was different. It seemed less plausible.

"You shouldn't leave all this out in the open, you know," Merlin said to Leon, gesturing to the reports. "You never know whose hands it might fall into."

"It's all data from the castle's computer. There's no way else to store it. It's not as if he doesn't know."

They bickered softly for a moment. Demyx noticed a small blue butterfly, glowing softly in a small jar, on a table nearby. It fluttered its wings weakly.

"The last remnants from one of the worlds I visited," Merlin explained to him. "It was all I could save aside from myself. See the withering on its wings?" He pointed to grayish tinge on the butterfly. "If I let it out of its jar, the temporal stasis will break, and the darkness will consume it."

"You must know a lot about time," Demyx said. He couldn't take his eyes off of the bug.

"Not enough, I'm afraid." He shook his head. "I should like to speak with you, and with your friends."

"My… friends…" It took him a moment to realize Merlin meant Ienzo and the others.

"I'm wondering if there's anything I can do to help your conditions," he said. He offered a kindly smile. "If it can be fixed, it'll help all of us, don't you think?"

Demyx didn't see how a time specialist could save them, but Merlin's magic was something new. He knew he shouldn't let himself hope, but a small ember burned anyway. "Uh, sure."

"We'll call a meeting as soon as possible," Leon said.

"Perhaps not  _right_  now," Merlin said. He stretched. "I've been traveling such a long time. One can't simply just jump dimensions when one gets older." He laughed wryly. " _Quite_ bad for my arthritis."

"I've already got some remedy with your name on it," Aerith said.

"Oh, you're too kind, my dear, too kind."

"So, tomorrow morning, then," Leon said.

Demyx tried to imagine being old enough to get arthritis. Or gray hair. He couldn't imagine even being an adult. He didn't think he'd get a chance. "I should head back… tell the others," he said. None of them were really paying attention; they were too busy talking. He slipped out the door.

* * *

That night it was only he and Aeleus at the dinner table, picking over bland soup. Aeleus's arm had, in the past few weeks, regrown all of its bones, but he was still in rigorous physical therapy to get the coordination back, and Demyx could tell from the way he held himself that it still hurt.

"…You ever think about being old?" Demyx asked him.

Aeleus shrugged.

"Like, real old. Old enough to have gray hair. Or, like, grandkids." He didn't even want to  _think_  about that.

"Why do you ask?"

"Merlin the wizard returned. He… it's dumb, but he said he might be able to help us. I didn't imagine surviving much longer." He stirred his soup weakly. "Is it dumb to hope? He's… he's pretty powerful…"

Aeleus's expression was smooth.

"It probably is dumb," he conceded.

"Hope is never dumb," Aeleus said.

"I can't imagine myself grown up," Demyx said.

"You are grown."

"You know what I mean. Older. Like thirty. What would that be like? Would I work somewhere? Would I… be with someone? What would I  _do_?" The more he spoke, the dumber he felt, but the thoughts expanded from their repressed spot.

"Will you stay here? If you are healed?" Aeleus asked.

"I don't  _know_. What if it turns out that I have family somewhere?" He remembered that hot flash of memory, his mother still in her bed, as though asleep… Something in him tightened. "I'd have no way to get there."

Aeleus nodded solemnly. He was trying to eat with his weak hand, and the spoon trembled in his grip.

"What about you?" He asked. "What is here for you?"

"Dilan, Even, and Ienzo."

"Right. You knew them for a lot longer than I did."

Aeleus nodded. "This is our home."

"Dilan didn't agree. The last time I talked with him, he said that everything that made this place home was gone."

"I can see how he'd think that."

Demyx waited for him to elaborate. "…What did he lose?" he asked.

"His sister and his partner died in the fall."

"…Oh. That's awful." A long moment of silence. They picked at their meals. "Are you going to fight?"

"If the rest of you do, I will protect you."

"I'm so scared," he admitted.

Aeleus nodded.

"You're so naive."

Dilan's voice put his heart through his chest. He almost choked on his mouthful of soup.

"I expect this from him. But you, too, Aeleus?" He crossed into the room and opened a cabinet.

Aeleus said nothing. He kept trying to eat.

"You'll all be killed. I'm trying to save you."

"As am I," Aeleus said. "If this continues then we will have no home or lives to speak of."

Dilan shook his head.

"Where do you recommend we go?" Aeleus asked. "To the other worlds we destroyed?"

Dilan scoffed and strode from the room.

"I can't understand him," Demyx said.

Aeleus shrugged.

He stood up and pushed his bowl towards Aeleus. "I'm not hungry anymore. You can have it."


	19. Bittersweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ienzo attempts to help Demyx find his way back to the music, and it ends disastrously.

XIX.

Bittersweet

Demyx had been sleeping strangely, either dead to the world for hours at a time, or so lightly as to be unable to tell the difference between asleep and awake. That same memory still haunted him as he tried to sleep, of his mother's immobile form. He felt no grief, just a strange paralyzed detachment, a numbness he could practically taste. To him, it was even more disturbing than if he were openly mourning; it was all too much like being a Nobody. What about the other people that had been in his life? Were they gone too?

Needless to say with all these thoughts a good night's sleep was a crapshoot. It led to him being crabby and snippy, which Lea teased him endlessly for.

"Think this training is tiring? I was in Merlin's goddamn time pocket for weeks."

"That was your choice," Demyx pointed out.

"And this was yours," Lea said. "Now let me see your form."

He had a point. All this hard, tedious work; Demyx had undertaken it  _on purpose_. Sometimes he really just wanted to give up, especially because it seemed that nothing good would come of it. But other times, he would be enjoying his time with the rest of the committee, and realize that maybe life after the Organization wasn't that bad.

Or whatever.

He didn't seem to be having any luck on the guitar front, though he had spent hours and hours scouring the rooms full of junk. There had to be something of use; he must be missing something obvious. All this searching made him frustrated and, combined with the no-sleep days, his mood would be decidedly unpretty.

One afternoon several days after Merlin's arrival, Ienzo took him aside after breakfast. "There's something I recovered that you might find of interest," he said.

Demyx couldn't imagine what this might be. "Um, okay."

Ienzo smiled in that pinched way of his. "Come with me."

They proceeded down towards the library, but then trailed away towards a section Demyx was less familiar with. "So… what have you been up to?" He asked.

"Mostly… gathering information," Ienzo said.

"Still?"

"It's a massive job," Ienzo said. "My reading speed is far above average, but I can still only search through so many volumes a day. There are all of the castle reports, and the Organization reports, as well. Besides…" He exhaled. "I've been experiencing particularly troubling migraines lately."

"Have they been getting worse?"

Ienzo did not answer. He gestured to a plain wooden door. "This is it," he said. "I had nearly forgotten about this room. I know you've been having trouble with the guitar… I figure we could all benefit from it."

"…From?"

Ienzo opened the door. The room was large and bright, with empty cupboards, bookcases, and an industrial sink in the corner. "This used to be an art studio. Ansem the Wise liked to paint in his spare time, and he often brought me with him. Look." He gestured to a corner of the room. "We found it covered with sheets in a hidden corner of storage."

It took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the light. Next to the massive windows was an upright wooden piano. His breath caught.

"I played quite a bit as a child," Ienzo said. "I'm afraid it's in poor shape. I did try my best to tune it, but my ear is not exact. And there's the weather damage."

Demyx approached it warily. The bench was broken, and a book bolstered one of the legs. Woodgrain on the side panels was warped. He traced it with one callused finger.

"I found these among my childhood things," Ienzo continued, coming up next to him. He held up a few lesson books. "I figure… perhaps what little I know can help you."

His throat had closed up.

Ienzo sat down on the rickety bench and pulled out a piece of sheet music. "There's an old song Ansem the Wise was fond of," he said. "It's the one I remember best… Forgive me if I'm not as eloquent as you are." He lifted his fingers onto the stained keys and began to play.

Ienzo was right; the piano was out of tune. He staggered through several minutes of a long, sad, lonely piece. It reminded Demyx of aimless corridors. Ienzo was obviously out of practice, but he wasn't inherently bad.

His face was wet. He touched the tears and waited for some memory to attack from the shadows, but none came. The numbness in him deepened.

"Sit here," Ienzo said, patting the seat next to him.

"Why are you helping me?"

Ienzo touched some of the white keys. "I should hate to see us all struggling along alone," he said. "We'd be much better off helping one another." He flipped open one of the books to the first page. He touched a key towards the center of the keyboard. "This is middle C. Do you remember?"

The sound sat heavily in the room with them.

They spent about an hour or two a day working together at the piano. The scales and music on the page seemed foreign to him, even when it was explicitly spelled out what he should play and how. His hands were clumsy on the keys. Ienzo would play a scale somewhat effortlessly; Demyx would try to copy him down to the fingerings, but something in his mind crossed and he would stumble through it.

"It will take some practice," Ienzo said. "I suppose you must have lost your muscle memory as well."

Trying only reminded him of what he didn't have. When he was out and about with Lea and the committee, he could at least pretend that he was normal. This only served to show him how scrambled he really was.

He practiced. Diligently. His coordination fought him. His thumbs stumbled over the keys. As much as he tried to commit the notes of the treble and bass clefts to memory, it seemed to slip away from him.

"Try it one more time," Ienzo said to him. He played the simple song again; a child's nursery tune. "See where I place my hands."

Again Demyx felt hot and teary. "It's not working."

"Of course it won't happen overnight. You have to—"

"Practice. I know. I've been fucking practicing every minute I can. It doesn't seem to go  _in_." He put his head in his hands. The discordant  _clang_  the piano made when he leaned into it caused Ienzo to flinch.

"Let me see," he said gingerly. "I'm afraid… I'm afraid I might butcher it…" He brushed Demyx's elbows off of the keyboard. He thought a moment, set his hands, and then moved them again. The first chord he played was deep and almost menacing. He hesitated, found a second chord, and adjusted it slightly. Ienzo combined the two chords and found his way into a song. The melody line was dreary, a slog; sad undertones carried through the mistakes.

"What's… that?" He asked. A couple of tears dribbled down his face, though he wasn't sure why.

"Do you recognize it?"

"I…" His head was starting to hurt. "I think so…"

"I would hope so." Ienzo repeated the first few bars again. "You wrote it."

The pain worsened. "I… I did?"

"Of course, I'm transposing—and poorly at that—but all the same. You played this quite often. We could never figure out  _why_. You always changed it slightly, so I figured it was no folk song, but something of your own creation. I had always hoped to see you write it down. But evidently… you didn't. This one, I remember, as well." He played a few bars of another piece; this one was more whimsical, and lighter. "Nine?"

Demyx nodded. He covered his mouth. "You thought this would fix me," he said through a mouthful of tears.

Ienzo played the song through again. "There are no certainties." He moved his hands and gestured for Demyx to try.

The keys were still warm. The first chord came as a surprise to him. He tried to put the pieces together. His heart was beating hard in his chest and the headache bloomed larger. It took a few tries to find the right note. It came in pieces. The piano keys were clunky and unnatural. Hot water ran down his chin. His hands seemed to be resisting. He found he was muttering to himself; he whispered the note names under his breath. He couldn't get them to sound right. They were wrong, off, perverted—his hands shook and he shoved them between his knees.

Ienzo touched him on the shoulder and said nothing.

"I can't  _do_  this," he said through his teeth, with difficulty. "It's not  _right_. It's broken. I—" His head throbbed steadily, consistently, in time with the song. The pain made everything shimmery. He couldn't breathe. He hovered on the edge of the memory and wondered whether or not to let go.

"…Nine?" Ienzo prompted.

He didn't move. Maybe if he stayed still enough it would go away. The pain tightened and the keyboard slipped out of focus.

"Nine?"

The memory started loudly and all at once. The bazaar was loud and crowded and smelled like any variety of things; perfume, incense, various types of food frying, and the sweat and humidity of too many people crammed in too small a space. Overhead dim lanterns hung from strings and poles, and strips of canvas and muslin swayed in the wind. The whole room seemed fuzzy and it was hot; sweat crawled all over his body.

He was trying to get through the crowds. It was a festival day. Almost everyone was covered in blue paint, and splotches of it caught on him as he tried to shove past. Some people didn't seem to notice, others grumbled. Other than chatter, it was quiet. They were waiting for the music to start.

Someone—or  _some_ thing, it was quite vague—was chasing him. It had followed him from that first shadow he'd seen at the pier, on the boat. It undulated.

"Stop!" the figure yelled. Nothing had been stolen, though. The wind intensified. He'd been spotted. He chanced a glance behind him as he continued shoving past; the crowd disappeared neatly into the pressing darkness. The lanterns snuffed out.

He had almost reached the stage. There wasn't much more town after that. The lights snuffed out one by one, quick and concise. People seemed to have turned still, and it was all so quiet. He could hear himself breathe. He jumped and reached for one of the sitars before being tackled sharply to the ground. His head knocked into the edge of the stage.

"Where do you think  _you're_  going?" the hooded figure asked. He was too disoriented to move. It picked him up under the arms and heaved him into darkness.

* * *

The floor was dusty and his heart clanged madly in his chest. Before he remembered the rest of his body he knew he was going to be sick, but all that came up was spit. His muscles shook.

"Nine?" Ienzo's voice gently asked.

Demyx couldn't respond. He tried to stop heaving and trembling. It didn't seem to do much good.

"I came as soon as I heard," Even's voice came from behind him.

"This one was much longer," Ienzo said.

Even helped him sit up. The whole room swam. His chest ached. Brightness stabbed at his eyes and he swatted blindly. The pen light clattered to the floor. He couldn't seem to catch his breath.

"Can you speak?" Ienzo asked.

"I saw…" Hoarse. "I saw him. Braig. As…"

"You remembered turning," Even said.

He hugged himself. His skin was slick with sweat; his shirt was practically stuck to him. "What the  _fuck_ —"

"It was only a memory," Even said.

"It still feels real to him," Ienzo said.

He felt at his chest. There was no blood or darkness there, just sweat and dirt. He pressed his face into his hands. He wanted to scream but wasn't sure he had the strength. His skin seemed to slither on him and he could almost see the darkness writhing on it.

"Should I—" Even asked.

"Not yet. I don't know if that would make it worse."

He could barely see them. The room was dim in the midafternoon. The pain subsided slowly, hesitantly, and the trembling gave way to pure exhaustion.

"Welcome back," Even said. He checked his vitals. Demyx sat there numbly.

"How long?" he asked. He still sounded breathless. "How long was I out?"

"I suppose it was about fifteen minutes," Ienzo said. He looked pale. "Though it was more of a seizure than a loss of consciousness."

No wonder all of him hurt. "…Really?"

He frowned. "This happened… before," he said. "During your first week… back. Before you really regained awareness."

"It makes sense," Even continued. "Every recovered memory triggers certain neuronal firing. I suppose more intense memories might manifest more physically than others."

"I'm tired," he said. He tried to stand and wobbled.

"Of course you should rest," Even said.

Alone, later, Demyx tried to sleep. He didn't want to think. While the memory didn't have the same sharpness as when it had been remembered, it was still slick and icky and made him feel cold all over.

He hadn't realized he'd been brought into the Organization by force.

Of course he had. He'd been, what, fifteen at the time? He knew he'd been recruited by Xigbar, but he hadn't made the connection that the transformation had been triggered directly  _by_  him. The Organization must have had some sort of way to sense the strong-willed. They needed vessels. To them, he'd been no more than a bottle. Besides, if he hadn't gotten scrapped up by them, what would have happened? The world fell. He would have become a Nobody, one way or the other.

He felt dirty. He'd taken his Nobody memories for granted, because they were the only substantial ones he had—were there gaps in those, too?

He lay still for a long time and counted the ceiling tiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first song Ienzo plays is "Via Purifico" from Final Fantasy X. The second is "The Thirteenth Dilemma" from KH2. The third is "Piano Etude I" from the Rule of Rose soundtrack.


	20. Potential

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin gives Demyx some news about his condition. Something integral shifts between Demyx and Yuffie.

XX.

Potential

Later that next afternoon, Yuffie showed up at the castle.

It was strange to see her there. She just walked right  _into_  the hall where they all lived, like it was her home too. He'd been sitting on the one cool spot of his bedroom floor, staring at the piano book while his eyes slowly slipped out of focus. The thought of the uneaten toast on the plate next to him made him feel sick. A weak, hot draft came through the open door, and he wiped at the sweat on the back of his neck. Her heavy footsteps startled him out of the dumb reverie.

"Oh hey," she said. She was slightly breathless.

"Uh… hi? Can I help you?" He was suddenly conscious of the fact that he was wearing only underwear and a thin T-shirt.

"Nice legs," she said.

Demyx's face burned. "I wasn't exactly expecting company." He grabbed a pair of jeans from the chair near the bed and pulled them on.

"Merlin wants to see you," she said. "I was downstairs anyway and figured I'd pass on the word. Have you seen Lea?"

"…Not in a few days." He strapped on the holster for the dagger. "Ienzo said he had something to do. Some kind of mission. I don't really know."

"He was supposed to have been back by now." She frowned.

His hair looked awful but there wasn't much he could do about it. "What did you need from him?"

"I wanted him to check on Sora."

He wondered how long it would take before Sora's name stopped giving him stabs of anxiety. "…Oh."

"I thought you two were okay, after the whole weird light thing?"

Demyx sighed. "Sure, I can stand being in the same room with the guy, but we're not friends."

She considered this and wrinkled her nose. "Let's get going," she said.

"You're coming with me?"

"I want to see what he'll  _do_ ," she said. "He wanted to see you separate, and I was like… that's cool."

Despite the heat, the sweat under his arms was cold.

"Relax, if it makes you so uncomfortable, I'll go." She shrugged.

They set off towards Merlin's house. The day was impossibly hot. Demyx had never been one for the summer—maybe due to growing up in a desert and knowing there was something better-but now without full control of his powers, he felt it doubly hard. It was like the sun was hitting him down to his core. Sweat crawled along his skin and he hoped he didn't smell. "…How can you stand being out here all day?"

"Got to," Yuffie said. He noticed patches of bright pink sunburn all over her body. "I kind of like it. I dunno. Except for the blistering. That's… yuck. It sucks that nobody can go outside at night, though. When I was a kid everyone used to just sleep through the day, and party at night. We had a whole solstice festival around this time of year. Aerith talked about having one, but it would be too dangerous, you know?"

"…Festival?" Xigbar flashed through his mind's eye.

"It was pretty great," she said. "The adults would get hammered and we'd basically just eat and eat. But shit's pretty scarce right now. That was back before the drought."

"…Drought?"

"It comes and goes in cycles," she said. "I mean, there's always the off chance that something got fucked when the world came out of darkness. But we'll be okay."

"If you say so." He pushed away a nasty memory of bitter thirst as a child. He was too familiar with droughts, the way they twisted and wrung out everything, how everyone always would go on and on about how  _today was the day it would break_.

Town was quiet. A few kids sat listlessly in the shade, unable to play. Even the few Heartless they encountered skittered away like bugs, only to get caught and vaporized in the claymore system. "Better for us," Yuffie said. "You haven't seen real action, have you?"

"No. I don't think I can."

"Oh, please. Even kids can take on little Shadows. If you want to fight, you have to start somewhere." She dangled her shuriken at her side.

"…I suppose." His heart beat harshly and he tried to swallow down the anxiety. They turned the corner towards Merlin's house.

"…Here we are," she said. "You alright?"

"Uh. Yeah. I guess."

She put her hand on her hip. "He's not going to hurt you. I promise. Talk at you, maybe. Which is kind of painful. I'm guessing that means you don't want me around."

On one hand, it might be comforting to have someone impartial there. On the other, it was  _her._  "I…"

"It's okay. I'm not offended." She shrugged. "What are you doing later? Figure you might want to get out of the house for a little bit."

More than anything else, that caught him off guard. "Oh. Uh. Nothing, I guess."

"Come by my house when you're done," she said. "Looks like I've got to get back to the grindstone." She waved and ran off.

His hand shook when he knocked on the door. A voice bade him come in. He took a deep breath and went inside. The room was blissfully cool and startlingly dark; it took his eyes a moment to adjust. A single lamp burned in the corner of the room.

"Oh, good. You're here," Merlin said. "Please, come and sit." He gestured to a pair of chintz chairs by the lamp.

"Nice AC you got," he said lamely.

"I figure there's no point to suffering indefinitely," Merlin said. "All it really is is a Blizzard spell. Quite simple."

He walked over to the chair and found his knees had gone weak.

"No need to be nervous," the wizard continued. He poured two cups of what looked like iced tea and brought one to Demyx. "I just want to have a look at you." He sat down and drank for a few minutes.

"…Where were you for so long?" Demyx asked him. The tea was strong and bitter, but it was cold, so he drank it anyway.

"I have any number of things that need doing," he said. "Most of my time, however, has gone into training the new Keyblade wielders."

"But you're not one yourself?" Demyx looked at the slim bone-colored wand on the table.

"Heavens, no. I have no desire to be one. But… there's a certain theory that can be taught relatively easily. Most of our efforts go into making the wielder worthy. Quite interesting. Quite ancient, the magic, anyway. Lea, now… it took Lea the equivalent of  _months_  before he earned his."

"I'm still surprised," he said.

"As am I. But he seems to have redeemed himself, however unlikely it seems. The same goes for you, and the others."

He looked down into the cup. He couldn't tell if nerves or the caffeine were making him jittery.

Merlin set down his tea and came to stand closer to him. "Can I have a look? Turn a bit closer to the light. My eyes aren't as good as they used to be." Merlin's hands were cool and papery against Demyx's chin. Much like Even, he asked him to look left and right. "Yes. Yes. Quite."

"What do you see?"

"I'm sure you know the damage is quite extensive," Merlin said. He sat down. "Not immediately life-threatening, but still, something that could be perhaps triggered appropriately."

He was shaking too hard and had to set the glass down. "Appropriately?" He repeated.

"Surely it's come to mind that any alterations made to you and the others were probably done to benefit  _him_?"

"Well… sure. That's why I volunteered myself to work."

Merlin laced his fingers. "And the memories?" He asked. "Have any come back?"

"Some," he said. "Nothing… very early. It's mostly been memories surrounding my reformation and my turning. And a very little about how I used to live when I was human."

"How odd," he said. "Yes. Why the cutoff?"

He shrugged.

"And have you tried using the dark corridors since then?"

"No," he said. "I'm scared to."

"Probably for the best. You never know what darkness might do. But your other powers are returning?"

"Slowly. Yes. I still can't summon a weapon, though."

Merlin thought for so long that Demyx was starting to get restless. "They seem to want you for  _some_ thing," he said at last.

"I know, I know." He tried to breathe. "Can you fix it?"

Silence. Demyx could hear the clock ticking in the other corner of the room. "I had… thought so, but I hadn't realized just how deep the damage ran. Doing so would take enormous power," he said. "Not to mention, delicacy and precision. If one were to make a wrong move, your heart would shatter entirely."

"…So I would become a Nobody again," he said desperately. "And grow  _another_  heart."

"No. Not quite." Merlin stroked his beard. "It's different when a heart falls to darkness. The heart is still  _whole_ , but consumed, which allows it to become a Heartless. The heart has been cleanly removed from the body and will. When a heart shatters, however, fragments still remain behind, and the body and will still cling to them. It's horrible. A comatose state."

Even and Ienzo had told him this, but he had  _hoped—_  His vision was getting blurry.

"It already looks like there has been some recent interference," Merlin continued. "I'd say it's best to leave you as is, and hopes the damage heals over time. If your power is returning, I'd say it's possible."

"What about Sora's light?" Demyx asked. "It hit me when we went to the lab."

"It's kept the damage from worsening on its own," Merlin said. "But the child… is still mostly untrained. Even a skilled practitioner of light would be largely unable to heal it all."

"Even and Ienzo said that the trauma from the memories could make it worse," he said.

"They are correct in that regard," Merlin said. "But we're so far into the realm of probability and mysticism that it's hard to say. I say that if you've survived remembering some of the most traumatic instances of your life, you will probably be fine."

That didn't make him feel better.

"Mostly… what should concern us is that they might use this to their advantage. If they break you… they could take your body and make you a vessel. If your heart is shattered there's nothing left to fight back, or rebel. Xehanort learned from last time."

"I thought they had enough vessels for him," Demyx said.

"It might not be Xehanort's heart they seek to put in you. I can't say with certainty what they would use you for instead."

This was all stuff he'd sort of already known. But hearing it from Merlin, definitively, that there was no way to fix him, made him feel sick. He was glad he hadn't really eaten.

"I'm sorry," Merlin said. "Short of putting you in a temporal pocket and waiting to see what happens, there's nothing I can do for you."

"It's fine," he said. His voice trembled.

"You can still live a full life," Merlin continued.

Demyx laughed. "I don't even know my name."

Merlin smiled sadly. "I'll convene with Yen Sid and see what else he may know," he said. "And not to be arrogant… but if I don't know how to help you, I doubt he will."

"I understand. I, um, should go. Thanks for the tea."

"Anytime, my dear boy. Feel free to visit. Heaven knows my door's always open."

* * *

He was still shaking when he got to Yuffie and Aerith's. He wondered if he should go back—at least to react in private—but maybe distraction was what he needed. The sun was already setting, and although it provided some relief, he couldn't stay very long.

Inside the house, it was cool and quiet. The energy in the room was dull. Aerith rested her head on the wooden table, a glass of water in one hand. Yuffie sat reading a comic book that looked as old as she was. Its pages were yellowing and disintegrating.

"I'm afraid it's not exactly the party I thought it would be," Yuffie said. "These grumps all decided they needed naps."

"We're conserving our energy," Aerith said to the table. "You should be, too."

"It's too  _boring_. Come on. I've been inside all day. Let's get some air. Wait," she said, before he could get in a word edgewise. "Let me get something." She disappeared into the one of the two tiny bedrooms and came back with a canvas knapsack.

"Where are we going?" He was tired and didn't feel like walking much more.

"You'll  _see_ ," she said. She crossed behind the house and scrambled up a narrow ledge onto the roof.

"Very adventurous," he said. He followed her up. The roof had stone shingles which hurt his hands. She sat on a precipice next to the chimney, watching the sunset.

They had never spent any time together, alone, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. While the anger had faded into belligerent friendship, he still didn't know what to say to her, and wasn't sure he had the energy to try.

She slipped a glass bottle out of the knapsack. It was full of a clear liquid he was positive wasn't water. She kicked back and took a sip. "Wanna come sit down?"

"Don't you have patrol later?"

"Squall does. I'm off tonight." She shook the bottle vaguely. "Turn up, am I right?" She offered it out to him.

He laughed weakly and took the bottle from her; it was surprisingly heavy. He tasted it and flinched at the burn that echoed up into his nose. "What is it with you and Lea drinking straight grain alcohol?"

She shrugged. "Please. It was only recently that some idiot built a still. You don't  _have_  to drink it."

"No. Now it's a challenge."

For a few moments they passed the bottle back and forth in silence. He already felt his head getting light.

"…So no luck," Yuffie said at last.

"You mean—oh." Demyx tried to keep from treading in that part of his mind, and took a longer swallow from the bottle.

"I'm sorry," she said. Her legs swayed back and forth. "For what it's worth."

"I shouldn't have let myself think he could do anything," he said. The scrawl of emotion hovered closely overhead; he wondered if he should stop drinking.

"I really thought he could," she said. Her face was already flushed.

"Why do you care?" he asked.

She took a drink.

"I mean, you hated me," he said. He was beginning to ramble, and his body felt faintly heavy.

"I don't hate you anymore," she said, and handed the bottle back.

When he drank, the fumes brought tears to his eyes. He shut them for a moment.

"It's lonely here, I guess," she continued.

"I know what you mean." Something akin to that Nobody void was opening up inside of him. There was no fixing this, no perfect cure, just… this horrible numbness, forever. It was almost unbearable.

She kept talking. "I'm alone, most of the time. And I don't always mind, you know, but day after day… doing the same things… I love my town, I'll do what it needs, but still. Still."

"It gets boring." He was starting to get dizzy and couldn't tell whether or not it felt pleasant.

"It gets  _so_  boring," she said.

He lie down and shut his eyes. The night air was heavy and cool against his skin, even though the shingles were sharp against his back. He heard the soft tink as she set down the bottle and lay down as well.

"Drunk already?" She asked.

He hummed vaguely.

"Me too. You're right. This shit sucks. Works way too fast."

He opened his eyes. The stars, less numerous than ever, shone weakly through the haze of clouds. He could just barely see her profile in the darkness. She shifted slightly; he figured she was trying to get more comfortable on the shingles.

He felt the warmth of her skin before he realized what was happening. She kissed him fiercely, gripping him around the waist with one strong arm.

"I'm sorry," she said when she pulled away. "That was not cool."

"It's fine," he said. Dazed, he tried to recall the last time someone had kissed him. The awkwardness in her voice was new and unfamiliar. Something jagged and terrifying had opened in him, but the fear was oddly exhilarating, breaking him away from the horrible void. With a hand he wished wasn't shaking, he touched her face. She barked an odd little laugh.

They kissed again in the darkness. She was warm and real against him, though she was less than gentle. She smelled like sweat and the coarse green soap they had no choice but to use. His hip ached from pressing into the roof. She slid her leg around his waist and pulled him against her tight enough to hurt. After carrying around his body like it was dead weight for so long, he was overwhelmed, and an icy intense panic threatened to overtake him.

She must have felt him tense. "We're drunk," she said, taking her leg back. "We can't—we shouldn't-."

"Right." He struggled to catch his breath without being too obvious. He sat up and drew his knees to his chest, suddenly aware of a whole  _other_  problem, and was intensely mortified.

"Want to go back down?" She asked.

"No. Um. I think I should stay sitting for a little while."

"Oh." She laughed, jittery and hesitant. "I'm sure I had a joke for that, but I just can't think."

His heart was still racing. He heard her take another drink. When she offered it to him, he drank deeply. His mouth was starting to go numb; he couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol or the kissing. He touched his lips, unsure if they were real. He wanted to touch her, to hold her hand, to ask her to hold him. Anything to ease the vicelike loneliness he'd been feeling. But he didn't speak.

"…Are you okay?" She asked.

"Yeah… it's just been a while."

"Me too," she admitted. "You have to admit… when there are only so many other people our age around… it's hard."

"I hadn't thought about it." It was true, mostly. Any future of his seemed purely hypothetical, and misty.

"Thought about…?"

"Being… being with…" he faltered.

"Sex," she said.

"Well. Yes. I've had a lot on my mind." He pressed his fingers into his knees. The drunk thoughts passed through him unchecked. "I wasn't sure, you know, how it would work, going from Nobody to human, or if that was just how I was. I feel numb, all the time. Like a dead fish. And, like, I can't  _ask_  Even or Ienzo. I think I'd rather die."

"Wait… so are Nobodies, like, asexual?"

"I mean, it depends if the Somebody was." He shifted uncomfortably. "But, like, I was young enough that I never found out as a human. There's no feelings at all, just this very cold… attraction. I guess it's instinct? Though we are— _they_  are—sterile, so maybe there's just no purpose to it really? God. I need to shut up."

"No. I want to know."

He hiccupped. "I was really young when I turned. So I guess I'm saying this is kind of new to me. I'm so  _embarrassed_."

"It's fine," she said.

Neither of them spoke; the alcohol was hitting them now in full. He tried to think of boring things but found his thoughts were mostly incoherent. The intense emotions were draining out of him, leaving him bereft and drunker than he'd ever been.


	21. New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx struggles to come to terms with what happened between him and Yuffie.

XXI.

New

Demyx woke up on Yuffie and Aerith's couch with another hideous hangover. Someone—evidently, Aerith—had been kind enough to leave two little pills and a glass of water, which he waited to take until after he threw up the first time.

"Fucking no  _powers_ ," he said into the toilet. "Fuck me." At least the semidarkness of the bathroom was soothing, unlike the vicious sunlight which poured through the living room windows. Undone completely by a handful of shots of some stupid stuff. Of course, he'd been the idiot who hadn't eaten all day, but that was beside the point.

Despite the physical misery, he could remember fairly well what had happened the night before. Some things were vague—he knew he'd rambled at some point, but about what he had no idea—but others were distinct. The kiss. The vague—yet terrifying—anticipation he'd felt. He sat very still on the bathroom floor. This was not good. This was  _very_  not good. The idea of being attracted to her was not what upset him, but rather, the fear of what this meant now, especially because they still had to work together on a semi-regular basis. He wondered if he'd just ruined one of the only friendships he really had.

He heaved again, but nothing came up. "Shit," he said.

When he was feeling less like trash and more like merely hell, he went back and took the two little pills. He should go back to the castle. As awful as he felt, he also wanted fresh air before it got too warm.

"Good morning," Aerith said from the kitchen, starting him. In a careworn robe, her hair was pulled back loosely from her face.

"Hey, sorry," he said hoarsely.

"What for?"

He shook his head. "I guess you don't exactly have any other medicine for a hangover."

"Strangely, I don't."

"Of course."

She smiled. She put up the kettle and gave him a glass of water. "Not that I would, you know, necessarily give it to either of you right now anyway. I'm afraid drinking too much isn't a life-threatening emergency."

"No fun allowed," he said.

"Oh relax, I'm not Leon." She fixed her tea.

"How do you even know what we did?" He asked, and a paranoia closed around his throat.

"I heard Yuffie throwing up a few hours ago. Not that she was exactly  _subtle_."

"Maybe we should have invited you."

"Drinking never did anything for me," she said. "So you're right, I am no fun."

"Thanks for letting me stay," Demyx said. "But I better go. Before… before the others get worried. I sort of have a track record, you know."

"You sure? It's very early."

He stood, somewhat tremblingly. "Yeah, I should go. See you soon."

When he got back he slid into his bed, not caring about the hardness of the mattress for the first time. He pulled the sheet up over his head and lay, trembling, trying to convince himself that the shaking came from the hangover.

* * *

They didn't talk about it.

At first he thought it was because she didn't remember, but after a while he could tell she did, in the set of her eyes whenever they were in the same room. She wasn't unfriendly—at least no more than usual—but there was a tension that hadn't been there before. The unnecessary layer of drama made him stressed, as did the private question of whether or not it might happen again under better circumstances.

For a few weeks, as June neared its end, life continued quietly. Lea was missing; Demyx worried about him. He knew that Lea was more than capable, but usually he at least turned up to make reports. In the meantime, he trained with Aeleus, who was still struggling to get the strength back into his injured arm. Despite having an able-bodied advantage, Aeleus was kicking his ass. At least one thing was constant.

Soon after Leon assigned him to a construction project with Cid to begin fixing up some of the houses in one of the residential districts. It seemed like he had gone from being the water boy to being the fix-it boy, which felt like both a demotion and a promotion at the same time.

After the day was over, he hung around the Bailey, resting his sore body against the cool stone and looking out at Villain's Vale, which was rotting by the day. There had been talks to just tear it down, but nobody dared to go close, not with all the dark energy that had been near it.

He lit up one of the few cigarettes he still had. It felt nice to have something to do with his hands, and it helped unwind the knot of anxiety in his stomach. These construction projects, despite the physical exhaustion, let him avoid thinking for a few hours, which was probably why he was so willing to do them now. When it wasn't Xehanort, it was something else. Or someone else.

He should drop the whole thing. Pretend it never happened. Move on. He'd already done that so many times with other things, so what would one more be?

Against the sunlight, the smoke was thick and acrid. He settled on the ledge, smoking slowly as to savor it. Cid seemed to be monopolizing the limited tobacco imports they got, and besides, he didn't have the money to upkeep this habit anyway. Best just to keep it to the rest of the mostly-empty pack he had. Still, he saw the appeal.

"I didn't know you smoked," someone said, startling him out of the spiral. He looked around wildly and saw Yuffie, some fifty feet away, shuriken at her side. He froze. He felt like he'd been caught doing something wrong. He'd forgotten that her patrol brought her through here; without the careful elimination, the Heartless bred out of control in this area.

"Not really," he said. "I won some from Cid. Just kind of anxious, is all." He could feel his face burning and took a longer drag off the cigarette.

"Any reason why?" She attempted indifference, but he could see awkwardness in her eyes.

"Oh, you know," he said vaguely.

She came closer to him and paused. "It's kind of awfully beautiful, isn't it," she said. "The castle. I kind of want to drop a bomb on it. See it smashed to smithereens."

The violence didn't surprise him, but the harshness in her voice did. "…Because of the darkness?"

"Because Maleficent lived there." Yuffie spat her name. "She brought darkness to this world when it was still whole. She's the reason so many people died. Can I bum a drag?" She held out her hand; he wasn't sure he could say no, so he handed it to her. She inhaled and coughed. "Fucking disgusting. How do you guys do it?"

"Was that your first time?"

She shook her head adamantly.

He laughed. "You're a terrible liar. You have to puff, not inhale."

"Fine." She smacked her lips and flinched. "Ick."

"To be fair, this is possibly the worst thing I've ever smoked."

She sat up on the ledge next to him. "We need to talk," she said. "Right?"

He took a final, long drag and ground out the butt. The nicotine was making him shaky now, instead of calmer. "About?"

"Oh, come on, you know, I know you remember," she said sharply, but didn't meet his eyes.

Demyx paused. He took a deep breath.

"I don't want things to be  _weird_  between us," she said. "Okay?"

Any stranger than they normally were?

Her attempt to hide her expression was almost comical. Her cheeks were flushed pink. "I shouldn't have done it. I was drunk and it made things weird. I'm sorry."

He tried to take another breath and found he couldn't. He felt like he was slightly outside his body.

"Can you say something? Please?" She asked.

"I don't know what it means now," he said. "I didn't even…  _think_ —"

"It's fine. Let's just consider it forgotten."

"I don't think I want to," Demyx said.

Silence. His heart raced. "…What?" she said after a long moment.

"Oh, fuck," he said.

She turned to face him. "What? What do you mean?"

"Look, I'm just really confused, okay? Don't you have patrol or something?"

"It can wait," she said.

He felt panicked tears in his eyes and looked away. She edged towards him but looked unsure of what to do.

"It's okay," Yuffie said. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. I'm sorry." The softness in her voice made it worse. Before the shattering overtook him completely he leaned over and kissed her. For a moment she tensed. "I thought you didn't want—" She dropped her thought and kissed him back more deeply.

He hugged her to him tightly, wondering if he'd just made an even bigger mistake. Her hand slid up against his chest and the other tangled through his hair. The terror was back, stronger and clearer, and a few tears slid out. This was what he thought might happen; that he would  _want_  this.

"Why are you crying," she asked. Somehow, she'd ended up sitting on his lap.

"I don't know," he said.

"I didn't think I was that bad of a kisser," she said.

He laughed weakly. He touched his wet face. "I think I'm scared," he said, and wanted to hit himself for saying that.

"You should be," she said, with a smile, but then the smile fell. "Oh—you weren't flirting—you mean that."

"I'm kind of sort of maybe having a panic attack," he said.

"Oh, shit. Why?" A pause, then simply: "You told me that night. You're a virgin.  _Oh my god._ You're a virgin."

"No—" He couldn't stop crying. "That's not why—Go. Go back on patrol. This is a weird me thing."

Yuffie hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"I'll be fine." He wasn't sure about that; it felt like all of him was ripping.

"I'll be done later," she said. "Meet me at my house at sundown. Okay?" She patted his hand awkwardly and all but ran off.

* * *

It took almost that long to calm down.

The crying had stopped, and he could almost breathe normally. Another feeling twisted in him more tightly—anticipation. He choked it down. It didn't matter what he might physically want; if he couldn't stop crying at a kiss, he didn't know what might happen to him if—

"You're here," she said. He hadn't even had to knock at the door. "You actually came."

"Hey," he said weakly.

"Come in," Yuffie said, voice oddly formal. Without boots she looked even smaller than normal. "Aerith's out helping with an injury case. She might be gone a while."

An awkward pause. He felt like he had to say something. "That's too bad."

"I feel bad for them. She'll do her best, though. She always does." She looked away, and scratched one calf with the opposite foot. "You can come inside, if you want."

"I'm already inside," he said stupidly, before realizing.

She was in the hallway by the bathroom door. He'd never seen her bedroom before; it was a tiny space, barely large enough for a double bed and dresser, and dark. It had no windows, and a lamp struggled to permeate the gloom. Trinkets and clutter were everywhere, and he tried to focus on these items to quell the tide of emotions inside of him. Potion bottles, arranged by color and size; yellow feathers; a few stuffed toys, half-hidden but obviously well-loved; and some small, glowing marbles he knew had to be magical.

She sat on the bed and pulled one leg up under her. Her gloves were off, too, he noticed, and without them her hands were oddly delicate, though the nails were torn up. He sat, gingerly, next to her. "Can I ask you something blunt," she said. Her questions were sounding less like questions and more like statements.

"Okay."

"Are you  _really_  a virgin? Because you kind of panicked when I asked."

"I don't think so." He tried to steady his breathing. "It's very weird. Everything's really weird. I've slept with people but never as a real person? I'm not used to  _feeling_  anything." He spoke quickly. "Why?"

"I just want to know what you're okay with," she said.

A glittery sort of panic shot through him. "This is kind of fast," he said.

"We can just talk," she said. She took his hand.

He wasn't sure what that would entail.

"Without  _feeling_ ," she said, as if repeating him. "Like… no love, or…?"

Definitely not love. Looking back at those nights was like looking through a veil, and he wasn't sure he wanted to go there. There had been nothing more than a clinical brand of lust, a curiosity as to what would come next. He tried to describe it to her.

"That's so weird," she said. "I just got excited, I guess. I haven't had anybody to kiss in a long time."

He shut his eyes, suddenly exhausted. Her hand felt so nice in his—her skin was dry and cool and callused and more importantly steady.

"Wait." She had gone red. "Hold on a second. Back the fuck up. Does that mean— _does that mean I turn you on?_ " She spoke quickly, with pride.

If possible, he got redder. "I guess?"

"My god," she said. She flopped back. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Okay. Close enough. I'm eighteen. I figured you were older if anything. One of those weirdly young-looking older people. Isn't Even, like, forty?"

He took a deep breath. "Something like that. I don't really remember." He lay down too, mostly because all of his bones had turned to jelly. He turned on his side to face her.

"This is still weird," she said. "Doesn't it feel weird to you?"

It was weird, in a million different ways. Their enmity. Now this. To him, it was night and day, especially how kind she was being now.

She rested her hand on his waist. "Is this okay?"

"It's fine." The warmth through the fabric was making him dizzy. "I want—" He began, and stopped. He had meant something like, "I want to know why you picked me," but it died in his throat.

"What do you want?" She asked in a low voice that was as casual as he wished he were.

He couldn't get himself to speak.

"Can I kiss you?" She asked.

For a while they did, in the semidarkness. It was easier when he didn't see, he realized, though still overwhelming. She slipped her leg back around his waist. Her skin was so warm. He clung to her, because her weight was reassuring and comforting and it felt so nice to be held like this. She was strong, and wiry, and if anything the utter lack of tenderness only helped. She pressed her lips against his neck and he felt faint. He listened for her breathing—soft and a little more controlled than his—and felt very, very strange.


	22. Breakthrough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx worries about what might happen between him and Yuffie. Work with Ienzo causes Demyx to remember something traumatizing.

XXII.

Breakthrough

Demyx's life had taken a turn for the stranger.

He felt both more and less real. While anxiety pressed him on the castle front, a torrid teen drama pressed him on the town front. He spent an absurd amount of time not training, or working, but daydreaming. Ienzo commented on it at one point after a meeting. "Good to see you out of the doldrums," he said. "But did you even pay the slightest attention to anything that was said?"

He knew better than to lie. "It's just nice weather," he said lamely.

"Nice. I'll say. Sweltering, more like," Even interjected. "Well. Whatever it is that's got him occupied, it's better than the complaining."

He probably should have been angry at that, but it was so  _easy_  to distract himself and pass the time and boredom. He was still terrified. Every time she touched him in a new or different place he almost fell back into the cold panic. It was obvious that something like this would take time.

"A word, Nine," Ienzo said sharply.

"Sorry," he said. "I've just got a lot on my mind."

"That much is obvious. But I must remind you of the task at hand." Ienzo still looked pale, despite the sunlight; probably from too many hours in the lab and library. "It's not too soon to start thinking about your mission."

"What?" He asked blankly.

"Your mission," he repeated. He canted his head to the side. "You had expressed an interest in being a double agent."

"That was your idea. I only wanted to help."

"And this is how you will help," Ienzo said. "It's time to start preparing you."

All the contentment had been sucked out of him, plunging him headfirst back into anxiety. A cold sweat formed under his arms. "Preparing me  _how_ ," he asked.

Ienzo hesitated. "You should try to get your powers back in check, and go back to training with Aeleus. You needn't do all this committee work; I'm sure the town is grateful for it, but Leon agrees this training should come first. You should be conserving your energy."

Demyx blushed. There had been very little committee work to do lately; he had spent most of that time making out with Yuffie.

"I have some work I would like to do with you as well," he said. "Tomorrow. Meet me in the library. I'll leave your afternoon to you." Was he just being paranoid, or was that sarcasm?

* * *

Of course, where else would he go?

She was bored too; that was what he told himself. Without committee work Yuffie was completely free on non-patrol days. They'd met in a series of progressively more run-down—though progressively more isolated—areas. Today it was an old scenic overlook, which had once framed the reservoir, before it became defunct. The memory of the darkness-infested water made him feel sticky.

They lay near each other on a blanket, looking up through a frayed canvas overhand. Sunlight peeked in. "I don't think anybody will bother us," she said. There was no definition as to what this "us" might be. He could barely conceptualize the physical, much less emotional. He wished he could be casual. Calm. He felt like he was in over his head. All of these feelings were just so  _much._  He didn't know how to handle it.

"This is all very mysterious," he said. "Almost like you don't want to be seen with me."

She shoved him lightly. "Oh, please. I just think my business is my business. Aerith is  _such_  a homebody in the summer."

He shut his eyes and thought he might fall asleep. But then, remembering Ienzo, anxiety forced his eyes open. The canvas above them snapped sharply in the hot wind. In jeans and a layered shirt, he was sweating, even with the cool stones. "How long is summer here?" He asked.

"Um, about four and a half months. Why?"

The thought of fall put a tight knot in his chest. He reached for her hand, but didn't find it. "Thinking ahead, I guess."

A long pause. She stroked his hair, and for a second he forgot to be anxious. "You have to go, don't you?"

"Not for a while. But yeah, I will."

"Will you come back?"

The instant, instinctual answer was yes. He had nowhere else to go, and besides, he finally had something to look forward to. But the truth? What if he didn't survive? What if this whole plan fell to shambles? And what about the rest of the war? He took a deep breath. "I…"

"I know," she said quietly.

He kissed her. Partially trembling, partially desperate, he missed most of her mouth. Her arms tightened around him. The ground seemed to have given out from under them. The air had turned cold. She got on top of him. This was new, and disorienting. Trailing down his neck, she reached to undo the buttons at his throat. Hesitant. They made eye contact; another first.

"Is this okay?" She asked.

He hesitated, but didn't want to stop.

She unbuttoned slowly. There was nothing to reveal but a thin undershirt. "Why are you wearing this? It's so hot." Not a flirtation; she genuinely wanted to know.

He looked away from her. He swore he could hear his heart beating and for a second lie still. "I've got some scars," he said at last.

"Oh. Well, me too."

"Like a lot of scars," he said. He laughed a bit, treading the tide of anxiety.

She frowned. "How many is a "lot?""

Fingers shaking, he sat up and helped her take off the undershirt. He held it against him.

"You don't have to," she said. "Maybe some other time—"

"It won't be any easier then." He lowered the shirt.

For a second she just stared at him, tracing her eyes over the thin lines of scars. He choked on a bubble of hysterical laughter. There was nothing but shock in that gaze.

"How did you survive?" she asked.

"I almost didn't."

"No  _shit_." She reached forward, but then hesitated.

"You can touch them," he said.

"I thought I felt some of them, through your shirt. Even when you were hurt that one time, I never saw them," she said. "But…" She didn't finish the sentence. She traced a scar across his breastbone, one of the ones that thickened and puckered. "Doesn't it hurt?"

"Not really anymore. Only sometimes when it rains." The skin was numb most of the time still. She traced another scar, and a shudder shot through him. Some of it was still hypersentitive.

"Sorry. I'm just… I never realized."

"It's okay."

She leaned closer, still engrossed. Her expression grew even more puzzled when she noticed the ones on his back. "My god."

He laughed. "Well. It's a conversation starter, at least."

She pressed her lips against his shoulder. His hands were tangled in the undershirt. A deep, intense feeling tightened around his heart that he had no name for. She kissed the scars down across his belly and he had to cover his mouth to stop from making an embarrassing noise.

She looked up. "Does it hurt?"

He was dazed. "No."

She pushed his hand away from his mouth and took the shirt out of the other. "It's all right." She turned back to the scars, gripping his hands so hard it hurt, and the pain was somewhat vindicating. He tried to keep quiet and still, because this obviously meant something. She moved to his back, keeping a tight hold on his hands. The back was even more sensitive. He tried to cover up the first moan as a cough, but it didn't fool her.

"I'm not going to laugh at you," she said.

He exhaled sharply.

"Does it feel okay?" she asked after a moment. "Talk to me."

He didn't know what to say or how to say it. Nothing hurt or was uncomfortable, but he couldn't bring himself to admit that it wasn't okay or even good; it was beyond all that, a pleasure so intense he was actually shaking. He was scared again. This wasn't harmless kissing, this was something that would lead somewhere.

"Are you okay?" She repeated a little more forcefully, facing him now.

"I think so?"

"Is it too much?"

"Maybe?" He could only answer in vague questions. He felt like he was stretched to snap.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No?"

"Answer me, please."

"Give me a minute," he said weakly.

"Sure." She sat down next to him on the blanket and took one of his hands. "It's so interesting to watch you. The last person I was with was  _so_  unexpressive. I might as well have been kissing a wall."

That didn't help. He could feel himself sweating. "I'm boring," he said vaguely, and looked away, at the cobbles near the blanket, anything to avoid thinking about what it might be like if they actually—

A few minutes passed. She looked at him calmly, still holding his hand. "Why don't you let yourself make noise? Or touch me? I can tell you want to."

"I don't know," he said truthfully. "I really don't. I—" He was almost crying again.

"I won't push you any farther," she said.

"Why are you so nice to me all of a sudden?" he blurted. "I still don't get it."

She kissed him gently, once, on the mouth. She pressed his undershirt into his hands. Part of him wanted to keep going. The other part of him was sure that, if that happened, he would fall into a fear so deep he might not get out. He slipped the shirt back on. "We'll work on this," she said. "I'm not in a hurry. Not much else to do."

* * *

Later Demyx lay in tepid bathwater. He was still shaking, and he couldn't breathe right. Maybe there was something legitimately wrong with him, something chemical, something that hadn't reformed right. He forced his head underwater. Or maybe he was just too embarrassed to admit he was terrified of having sex. It had been fine when it was all theoretical. But now, when faced with a real, living human who was more than willing, he freaked. Completely.

He looked up at the moldy ceiling. He almost wished he had someone else to talk about this with. Almost.

He couldn't imagine anything good coming out of being that vulnerable. Every lesson in the Organization—vulnerability led to destruction. Instant. Swift. Yuffie was right; regardless of what he'd done in the past, he was absolutely, undeniably a virgin.

"I hate this," he said out loud, to nobody.

There was something he could try, maybe, that could help, especially here alone in the bath, the only place where he couldn't be bothered. A bit gross, a bit juvenile, but yet—

He couldn't bring himself to. He pressed his face to his knees, and laughed, weirdly, darkly, and somewhat hysterically.

"Nine, are you quite alright in there?" Even called from the hall.

"Yes," he called back. "Sorry."

* * *

He didn't sleep very well. Not only were the rooms insufferably hot, but he kept turning what had happened yesterday over and over. Every time, it became more embarrassing. As a result, he was so early to meet Ienzo that Ienzo wasn't even there. He waited, trying desperately not to think about anything, because if he wasn't thinking about yesterday than he was thinking about what this meeting might mean.

"Nine," Ienzo said, surprised. He carried a cup of tea and a notebook with him. "I wasn't expecting you for a while."

He shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."

"Any reason why?"

"It's too hot," Demyx lied.

"Indeed it is," Ienzo said. Still, he wore his white jacket with the long sleeves and ascot. "Well. I suppose the earlier we begin, the better."

"What are you going to do?" He asked.

Ienzo pulled up another chair and sat across from him. "You remember how a good deal of Organization training had to do with mental fortification. I believe something like that might help in the long run, especially considering what you may do."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Ienzo frowned and sipped at the tea. "What do you expect to happen when they take you in?"

"I haven't thought about it," he said. It was true. He couldn't conceptualize it, still.

He shook his head. "They'll more than likely question you," he said. "We're not sure if one of the vessels has an ability similar to mine, but there must be some invasive mental prowess in the New Organization. They'll want you to tell them more than you're willing. By force, if necessary."

His blood ran cold. "…Force?"

"We're hoping it won't come to interrogation, especially if you submit yourself willingly. But, considering your recent track record of loyalty towards the committee, you have to admit it's possible."

"I do?" He stammered. He hugged himself tightly.

"I've been discussing it with Leon," Ienzo said. "It's all right if you end up speaking. Obviously we wouldn't expect you to risk overt bodily harm."

" _Bodily harm_ ," he spat. A hot flush cropped over his body and he was sure he was going to be sick.

"This is all only probability," Ienzo said. "We can't really know. But you must be prepared should they try to get in your head. For multiple reasons. Should they try to get at your memories, for example, it could only worsen your deterioration."

He held his breath.

"It would make sense for you to have a mind that resists breaking, considering you survived up to this point. You'll have to try to earn their trust in other ways."

He kept his hands over his mouth.

"Do you understand?" He asked gently.

He nodded. He hadn't, up to this point, grasped the full extent of what he was going to have to do. Blindly, he thought about asking if it was too late to back out. He remembered the deeper, thicker guilt in his stomach, how it clotted his veins like glue. Or the horrible pain he'd felt in the darkness in the lab.

"Is it alright if I try, Nine?"

No, it wasn't alright.

"I've done so before, you remember," he said. "In the very beginning since you woke up. I won't hurt you or poke where I'm not wanted. I just want to see if I can."

"Okay. Fine. Cool. Great."

A moment passed. Ienzo's face was oddly still, his eyes distant. Demyx wanted to look away but wasn't sure if that would break the spell. He wondered, briefly, if for a moment his mind really was that strong, or if Ienzo's powers were just as crappy as his.

But then he felt it; a drifting, creeping fog trickling up his spine. He let it go for some time, struggling against nausea. When it reached his head he instinctively quashed it, and tried to push against it, but there were too many little fingers of fog. An artificial calm washed over him that he knew was Ienzo's doing. He grappled against it.

"You need to be calm," Ienzo said. "It's all right. Focus."

The little fingers kept poking at different parts of him. There were too many to push back all at once. He needed to keep him out. The fog pushed against his memories and a splitting headache bloomed which the fog quickly anesthetized.

Demyx wasn't seeing in front of him anymore. It must have been an illusion. He could see a beach, from a world both he and Ienzo had been to in the Organization, stretching before them. The sand, harsh and hot, felt real against his bare feet, even though he knew it wasn't.

Ienzo smoothly turned to face him. "Hello."

"You're terrifying," he said. "I didn't know you could do all this."

"I'm not as good as I used to be, that's certain," he said. "I'm finding it very draining to maintain this illusion and to keep away your anxiety and your pain. Why so much anxiety, Nine?"

"You just told me they're going to torture me," Demyx said. "I think fear is an appropriate response."

"It is," he admitted. "But there's more. It goes so much deeper. I can feel it. Something else is bothering you." Suddenly the beach was stormy. For a second, distress flickered across Ienzo's face. "What is it?" He had to speak more loudly against the wind. "It can consume you. Let me—let me  _help_  you."

Rain battered them, sharply, like needles.

"I'm losing hold of it," Ienzo said. "Tell me. Nine. This isn't good."

He tried to think about it. This was more than just Yuffie. Another problem loomed, something shadowy and immense. The waves washed over them, surging up to their waists. Ienzo forced through something sharp in his head; a fragment of a memory. A piece.

They were sitting in the library and Demyx was dry-heaving.

"I'm sorry, Nine," Ienzo said weakly. "It was right there. It was eating at you. I had to know."

He hadn't seen the memory with any clarity, just knew that he felt deeply unclean. He was certain, suddenly, that all this fear of intimacy was his body remembering something worse. And he was glad he didn't remember.


	23. Trauma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx has to come to terms with what he's remembered. Lea returns.

XXIII.

Trauma

"I'm so sorry, Nine." An hour later and Ienzo was still apologizing. Half of it was because he was dazed himself, sapped of energy, and feverish to the touch. Even had found them both and corralled them into his lab.

Demyx felt strangely numb. Even had given him a wet washcloth, which was supposed to be for his face, but it was more comforting to hold in his hand. His mouth was dry.

"You are both  _idiots_ ," Even hissed. "Why on earth would you do this without consulting me first? Ienzo. This is unlike you. Especially because your own power is still so fragile."

Demyx was only half listening. He lifted up the wash cloth and placed it over his eyes. He was sitting in a chair, a soft one. He tried to confront the word, in his head, but it wouldn't come.

"Hold this against your face," Even continued to Ienzo. "Don't make me  _have_  to cool you."

Footsteps. Demyx couldn't move. Even touched his shoulder.

"Could I get you something? Some juice, perhaps? Are you hungry?"

"No," he said hoarsely.

"Maybe some medicine? Do you still have a headache? Something to help you sleep?" The false saccharine in his voice made Demyx feel sicker.

"You're only being nice to me because he told you," Demyx snapped. The wash cloth flopped off his face. A lush, shattering dryness loomed inside of him.

Even didn't flinch. He came back with a glass of ice water. "You're dehydrated."

"I don't care."

"Nine, I don't want to have to sedate you."

"No, do it." His voice caught and he was crying again, suddenly and without warning. "Please. I don't want to think."

Even rubbed his back for a moment in smooth, rhythmic motions. "I'm sorry you had to remember this way. Believe me, Ienzo and I will have a talk."

"He was trying to help," he said thickly. "He really was." It was all starting to make sense, the thick fear. "I want to take a bath."

"I'm not sure you should be alone right now."

"Please. I feel so…" Half-seen fragments of the memory stabbed at him. He curled his knees to his chest. "When will it go away?"

"It'll probably feel more like a memory in a few days. But… this isn't an average memory. I don't know. Let me get you something to eat."

"I don't want—" But Even was already gone.

* * *

Several hours of numbness. After he had eaten—and thrown up—dinner, Even put him to bed, giving him more pills. Through a hazy wave of tranquilizer, he looked out the window. He said the word once, softly, to himself, and pulled the blanket above his head.

A few days passed like this. For the first two, they let him lie in. Aeleus brought food; Even chattered idly about the weather. After that, they started asking—first kindly, and then more adamantly—that he leave the room. "It would do you some good to get you out of there," Even said.

Silence. It was easier not to speak, to feign sleep.

On the fourth day after, the door opened and he hid under the covers. It was hot under here, but safer. He waited for Even's voice, or Dilan's, telling him to get the fuck out of bed. He heard shoes—pretty heavy shoes—on the floor, then silence. Metal set against the chair. He still was numb.

Yuffie slid into bed next to him. He already knew the feel of her body against his, and her smell. She kissed the back of his neck.

For a long time neither of them spoke; she just held him. He wondered how she had known. He started to cry again, though for the first time in days it felt like relief. He turned to face her. "You came," he said.

"I was worried."

"Did they tell you?"

"Only bits and pieces." She wiped at the tears. "I had sort of thought so."

"I'm sorry."

"It's completely okay." She leaned against his collarbone. "I thought you would smell, after so many days in bed."

"It helps when I take a bath." He still didn't feel clean. He wasn't sure he would for a while.

Silence. He could feel her heartbeat. "I think I might have accidentally started caring about you," she said after a minute. "Sorry."

He laughed, still crying.

"I'll stay here with you for a while," she said. "As long as you need."

And she did.

* * *

It took nearly a week for him to get back towards normal. Yuffie helped; she drew him out of bed and back out into town, running all sorts of weird and unnecessary errands. He was still shaken—the world looked a little different, colder. If the others noticed the time they were spending together, they didn't comment on it, for which he was grateful.

Lea returned one day at the very beginning of July, battered and bruised, with a spectacular black eye. His cloak was torn at the bottom, and his hair was frazzled and limp. "Honey, I'm home," he said dryly when he returned to the castle. He started raiding the pantry in the kitchen absently, and Demyx didn't have the heart to stop him. "Listen. After they interrogate me, I'm getting fucking hammered. You're free to join."

"That bad?" He asked.

"I'm exhausted," Lea said. "I forgot how shitty recon work is."

"You don't have to tell me," he said. "Better that than anything else, though."

He shrugged and started heating a can of soup in the palm of his hand. "So what's been going on around here?"

Demyx paused. "…Not much."

"Right. Sure."

"Really. I mean it. It's been pretty boring."

Lea rolled his eyes. He started eating with a spork he'd been carrying in his pocket. "My place. Later. I'm going to see the eggheads."

* * *

Getting drunk did sound appealing.

Maybe that was what he needed; to get smashed out of his mind. It might make him feel better.

So he did go to Lea's. Demyx found him there, in casual clothes, smoking, perched precariously on a pile of stone. "What a look," he said dryly.

Lea shrugged. "Feels good on my back." He jumped down and stretched. "I'm getting old."

"You're not even thirty."

He gestured vaguely. "I'm guessing you haven't done much upkeep on your training."

"I did with Aeleus, a little bit. But I got sidetracked."

Lea appraised him silently. "They said  _something_  happened to you, and to be delicate, yadda yadda. I didn't want to put much stock in it."

He flinched. He could feel the memory threatening to rise in him and he clamped down on it. "Ienzo was getting me ready to leave. It didn't go well."

"I don't want to talk about  _work_ ," he said. "Enough of that."

The living room, the mugs, the absurdly strong alcohol. Demyx drank slowly; he wanted to see if he would ramble again. He didn't want Lea to know  _everything._  "So was it bad?" He asked. "The questioning?"

"I gave them everything I knew. It still wasn't enough. The risk, blah blah. Sora, blah blah." He kept smoking, steadily, one after the other. Demyx was vaguely jealous. "But they're kinda amateurish. The New Organization, I mean. Or else they were really comfortable letting me spy on them."

"More amateurish than we were?" he asked.

"Surprising, right? It seemed kind of… frantic. They didn't have a whole lot of time. I didn't ever really go  _inside_ , and I didn't see much, but I did see them running around, and the Nobodies were still hobbling around too. It looks like he wants to control them. They seem kind of drugged. I called an Assassin, just to see what it would do, if it would respond. It  _kind_  of did." He gestured to a still-healing scar on his arm. "Even thinks they might have used the same break tactics on the Nobodies that they might have used on all of you. You have to admit it makes sense." He groaned. "Talk about something, please. I'm sick of this crap."

"…I haven't got much," Demyx said. "So were there still Dancers?"

"A few. There weren't a whole lot of Nobodies in general; Sora took care of that. They were about the same. Plenty of Berserkers and Snipers, though." He whistled. "I saw him, you know. He didn't see me."

"…Isa?"

"Yep. Rat bastard. Stupid smug expression on his face. I wanted to hit him, I really did. But I showed restraint. I'm an observer, after all. You were always better at it than me. I always wanted to get involved."

"It was easier, to watch," Demyx said. "It still is."

Lea offered him a cigarette, finally. "…You want to talk about it?" He asked.

"No," he said. "I really don't."

"That's fair. I figure I'd offer."

"Thanks," he said. This cigarette was far better than any one of Cid's, and he focused on the head rush.

"I heard something else," Lea said. "I don't know if you'll like it, though."

He didn't know what it could be. "What is it?"

"I heard stupid kids gossiping. They like me, you know. I'm  _cool_  now, apparently." He smiled. "But anyway, they said you and Yuffie."

"We what," he said blankly, trying to be casual.

"I figured there wasn't anything in it. It was a dumb rumor. Not many people around, when two people start hanging out, it seems like there's only one way it will go."

He shrugged.

"How long," Lea asked bluntly.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Haven't had to tell a lie in a while, huh? You've gotten pretty bad at it."

He exhaled smoke. "Why do you even care?"

"Because it's not boring and it's something to talk about."

"…A few weeks, I guess," he said. "Don't tell anyone. I'm still kind of fucked up."

"Your secret's safe with me." Lea leaned back against the couch. He laughed. "I should have bet money on it. Could've won something from Cid."

"You guys had a bet?"

"Not really. We thought it might be funny. Oh boy. She really hated you for a while. Strange how that happens."

He chuckled. It had felt surprisingly good to finally admit it. It made it real. "I'm not… in love, or anything," he said. "But it's nice."

"I'm sure." Lea's expression darkened. "Though I'm not sure how entrenched you should get yourself here."

He tapped the excess ash off in a tray. "I'm tired of being by myself. Or a tool, for some eventual plans. I like… being a person." He took a long drink, forgetting the promise he'd made himself earlier. Combined with the taste of nicotine, the alcohol was that much harder to get down.

"We don't get to be people," Lea said sharply. "Not yet."

He was right, of course. "I just want the summer," Demyx said. "Just the summer. And then I'll do whatever. Ship me off. Have them torture me. I'll try my best to bring back what I can. Let me have this  _one_  thing."

"I never said you couldn't," Lea said. "You're an adult. You want to get hurt, it's up to you."

* * *

True blue July. The air got, if possible, hotter. He started getting painfully sunburned and had to smear a musty-smelling salve on his skin. Now that Lea was back, he was kicking Demyx's ass even harder in training. He'd improved; to the point where Lea ended up with a gash in his thigh that would have been impressive if the sight of blood hadn't made Demyx faint.

Even, Aeleus, and Lea started splitting his time evenly. Even insisted that they start training his powers again. Aeleus first started showing up to his sessions with Lea, under the pretense of training alongside him, but he was soon just as harsh. Between the three of him he was constantly sore and exhausted and stretched thin. He needed to be back in fighting shape, as close as he could get to when he'd been a Nobody. It was working, he could tell. At least the exhaustion kept him from thinking. He told himself that repeatedly as he tried to drag himself out of bed.

Curiously, though, Ienzo was avoiding him. Demyx was secretly glad. He couldn't imagine what else Ienzo might accidentally trigger.

So he spent his free time, what little he had of it, with Yuffie. Alone. Along Aerith or Leon or even Cid. He was sure they had to suspect something but was almost beyond caring. It was worth the embarrassment to have an afternoon feeling like an average human, making out, talking errantly and pretending the inevitable would never come.

Time passed. Time passed much too quickly. He could see it in the way his hair was growing, in the way the fit of his clothes changed, the way the sunburn gave way to a hesitant tan. Summer would have to end eventually.


	24. Intense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx and Yuffie share an intimate moment. Aeleus warns Demyx about vulnerability.
> 
> This chapter is NSFW.

XXIV.

Intense

There were some things that the summer still held onto.

Ienzo stopped avoiding Demyx. Started making errant conversation in the hallways, hesitantly, like that might break Demyx even more. He knew it wouldn't be much longer before they had to start working together again.

Plans started getting drawn up for his date of exodus. That's what they kept calling it. "Exodus." It made him feel sick.

He realized, quite painfully, that he must be falling in love.

* * *

It happened one summer Thursday afternoon. Demyx had gone over to Yuffie's. He hadn't been since the memory had come up. Any semblance of casualness had faded between them, and he didn't know what to call what was left behind.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey." He felt weak, curiously bleached from the inside out.

"You all right?"

"Yeah, fine."

"…Okay," she said uneasily. "Well, come in. Aerith's out. I don't think she'll be back for a while. I just got back myself. I'm fucking exhausted."

He sat gingerly on the couch. He couldn't make sense of how he was feeling. Just seeing her had made his heart race. She knew everything about him now, or at least, about as much as he knew himself. How willing would she be to go forward? What did "forward" mean?

She unlaced her boots and let them hit the floor with a graceless thump. "You're staring at me," she said, with a trace of amusement.

"Sorry," he said.

Her smile slipped. "Don't be," she said. "Do you want to come in the back?" She leaned against the doorframe. His eyes were drawn to the curve of her hip.

He looked away. "Sure."

The room was the same that it ever was. She took off her headband and wrist braces and flopped onto the bed. He didn't get how she could just let herself be seen like this, so easily. "What a day," she continued. "Huey, Dewey, and Louie were at it again. Got it in their heads that they were going to investigate a Heartless nest. I swear they think this is all just some kind of game. I told Scrooge about it, and you know what he did? Gave them pointers for next time! Donald would have sorted them out, but of course he isn't here, so now  _I_  have to play babysitter."

He perched at the edge of the bed. "That sucks."

"Something's on your mind," she said.

He hesitated and pressed his hands between his knees. "You ever feel something and you don't know what it is?"

"All the time." She sat up in a strangely fluid motion. "What is it? Talk to me. Dr. Kisaragi is in."

He didn't know what he needed to say or how. "You said you liked me."

"Yes, that's been established." She laughed.

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why?" She thought about this. "Do I need a reason? You know, when a girl likes you, you're just supposed to roll with it." She touched his hand.

"I just—"

She waited, but he couldn't get the words out. "This is all kind of new to you," she said, as though repeating. "You've caught feelings for me. That's so adorable."

He turned away. His eyes were hot.

"That memory made you question things, didn't it?"

He tried to hold back the tears. He covered his mouth.

"Hey, don't cry. It's okay. What you feel is normal. It's good. I wish you wouldn't be so ashamed of it. None of this is your fault."

She'd already seen him in worse situations, but somehow he felt even more exposed than before. He could feel an idea building, a knowledge of what this  _thing_  he was feeling really was, and it was terrifying.

She slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him from behind, resting her head on his shoulder. He felt her kiss the back of his neck and a soft, creeping desire began to tamp down the panic. He tried to let himself feel it instead of fighting it off.

He turned. She pulled away from him. He went to brush away the tears but her hand caught his. Her fingers on his face, while they meant to be gentle, were callused and scratchy and he laughed weakly. She drew her hands up into his hair and for a moment pursed her lips, trying, he knew, to find something to say. "I want you," she said finally. She was close enough that he could feel her body heat.

He kissed her. For a moment it was just that, holding one another so tightly it almost hurt, his hands at her waist. Her lips against his collarbone, unbuttoning his shirt, slipping it off. "You mean that?" he asked breathlessly.

"You tell anyone and I'll kill you," she said, and he laughed. He slipped his hand under her shirt and immediately felt her tense.

"Sorry, I should have asked—"

"No, it's not that." Rather unembarrassed, she took off the tank top and then the faded gray sports bra like they'd done this before. "I get it. Why you freaked out about your scars."

He couldn't see very well in the semidarkness, but he saw the scar, a thick old clawmark, across her left breast, right near the heart. "How close was it?"

"About two centimeters," she said. "Two more and it would have gotten me."

He traced it lightly, and then touched one of his own scars, something he usually avoided doing at all costs, even in the bath. He didn't like being reminded of it. Neither did she, probably.

"There are more," she said, "but they're not nearly as badass. Or as interesting."

"What are we doing?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said. "You've… done stuff before, right?" She was breathing hard, her hand tracing his thigh.

"Yes. And so have you."

"Yeah. But are you  _sure?_ "

He had a feeling that whatever ended up happening would be impossible to take back. He waited for the fear to swallow him whole, but it seemed to be at bay. She squeezed his arm gently. He felt safe with her, or safe enough. "Yes," he said at last.

She barked a weird little laugh. "Well all right then."

They fell gracelessly back onto the bed. She pushed the blanket down, out of the way. He tightened his arms around her, feeling the thinner scars along her back. She unbuttoned his jeans and suddenly he was embarrassed again.

"You're shaking," she said. "Did you want to stop?"

"No, it's just that I—I'm. Well."

"That... that's supposed to happen."

"I-I know, but—" He was trying hard not to fight it, to let it just go on, to be normal for a few more minutes, but he couldn't help but think, lying there, about what would happen if he let go and let himself be vulnerable. He'd always been taught that it meant destruction, every day in the Organization. The last time he'd opened himself to her all it had brought up was  _that_  memory. What if there were something else, something worse?

"I want you to do this because you want to, not because you feel like you have to," she said. He could feel her weight pressing into him and it was not helping. "If you're not ready—"

"I want to," he said.

"But."

He was tired of being lonely and unloved and so fucking— "No buts." He kissed her and felt her trying to awkwardly take off his pants. It was going to be fine. It would have to be. He tried to focus on his crappy burnt out body and what he was feeling.

He reached for the clasp of her belt. He wished he could feel half as comfortable with himself as she was. She was back at the scars again, kissing, her rough scratchy fingers against his back. It was hard to breathe, he was so dizzy, he couldn't tell if this was just being very turned on or if it were some bizarre shade of panic. He'd never felt like this. He slipped off her shorts.

She looked up. "Can I touch you?"

"You already are?"

"No." She smiled, and then canted her head slightly. "You know."

A hot flush broke out over his body, borderline unpleasant. "Well, I—" It was suddenly very hard to stay still.

She didn't break eye contact. "Is there a certain way you like to do it?"

The flush grew hotter. "Um, no, I don't usually… do that."

"Why not? I do."

He laughed suddenly, a strange and involuntary sound. "Oh god, I'm just so nervous."

"Don't be," she said. "It's not that scary, I promise." She kissed him more gently this time and he felt her hand skim along the waistband of his underwear. He knew he could say no but all fears aside he wanted this. The first touch sent something like a shock through him and he couldn't help the sound he made. She did it a few more times and he tried to relax. He let her take off the underwear, all too glad for the semidarkness in the room.

"Do you have something?" he asked from below the waves of feeling.

"Yes—let me just—" She got off of him briefly and he heard her rummaging in the bedside drawer. He looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. She pressed the packet into his hand and for a moment he traced the serrated edge with one finger.

"I never asked you what you wanted," he said.

"Me? I'm just glad to be here." But her breathing was still off.

He rested his hand on her hip and realized that she'd lost her underwear too. She took his hand and brought it up against her scarred breast. She was shaking too, a little bit, and the relief was staggering because she was nervous too. This made it a little easier to sit up and kiss her, to press his lips against the scar, to bring her down with him.

After an uncomfortable moment dealing with the birth control they struggled to find one another in the dark. He wondered if she could hear his heart beating.

Initially it was awkward and a little difficult and she nearly lost her balance, accidentally elbowing him in the solar plexus. He was tempted to just call the whole thing off.

"Sorry," she hissed. "God, I'm so…"

"It's fine," he said, though he was still struggling for breath.

She laughed, a strange nervous sound, and the tension in him broke a little. He chuckled weakly. "Maybe we should just… take things slow," she said.

"Okay."

She got back on top of him. She slipped her hands between his legs to better guide him inside of her. He ran his hands down her back, finding a small web of scars, and wondering what else she must have been through. For a moment she held his gaze. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and felt like he should say something, anything, even if it was something stupid, anything to draw his attention from the fact that he was doing this. He kissed her and felt her move down tentatively against him. He didn't know how to describe the feeling other than  _warm_. His breath was ragged and he rested his head against her shoulder. She pressed her lips against his throat and asked, whisper close, "Are you okay?"

His voice was breathy and a bit embarrassing. "Yes."

"How does it feel?"

He fought against the gripping consciousness. He'd wanted this, it was normal, it was good. There was nothing wrong or bad about enjoying making love. He hated having that same stupid memory stuck between them— "It's nice," he admitted, shaking a little. He tried to push all the thoughts away and focus on what he was feeling. There were a lot of things happening at once. One of her hands had slipped up into his hair, the other holding onto his waist. He bucked up against her, more instinctively than anything, everything again intense and borderline overwhelming, something small and tight in the pit of his stomach.

It became a bit less reserved, a bit less gentle. They were both breathing hard. He felt feverish, almost giddy, still clinging to her shamelessly, everything so bright and soft and sharp at the same time, again dizzy, her mouth along his scars, his along her breast, and it felt like something was being fixed and broken at the same time—

She made a small noise against his throat, her nails digging into his side, and she tensed, and he was pretty sure he knew what had happened. To a degree he could feel it too, all over, bringing him closer to an edge.

"That was you?" he asked in a strange voice. It seemed odd to be talking again.

"Must have been," she answered equally as shakily, and slipped off of him. He felt her hand between his legs and he hesitated, wondering whether or not to let go, at the point where thought was barely possible. When he came the intensity broke over him in little waves and he gripped her other arm. She kissed his forehead and threw away the condom.

A rather protracted moment of breathlessness. He was still trembling, waiting for the bad thing to happen, for some memory to come, but it never did. Something warm, tender, and needy was stuck under his breastbone, the same feeling that he had been trying to figure out when he showed up. He knew now more than ever, his heart full and aching. He loved her.

"See, that wasn't so bad," she said, her voice thick. "I fucked up your hair pretty badly, though."

"I'll live," he said. He was exhausted, reeling from the realization and a whole lot else besides. It was done, the worst of the fear gone, leaving him feeling relieved and strangely raw, like he might cry. "Was it… good for you?"

"Are you kidding?" she laughed a bit convulsively. "Towards the end I was… I was shaking, I still am."

That made him feel a bit better. "Can I hold you for a while?"

She kissed him once. "Feel free. I'm okay with not moving for a bit."

He drew his arms around her and felt a short, sharp, sudden pain under his breastbone, near where she'd elbowed him earlier. Just as quickly as it began, it was gone, and he allowed himself not to worry about it until later. Instead he lay there and nursed this tender realization and wondered what, exactly, he had gotten himself into.

* * *

Yuffie and Aerith had a shower. He couldn't remember the last time he had used an actual shower. It was this he thought about as he stood there, in the bright piercing bathroom light, and tried not to look at himself in the mirror. Still, he noticed faint scratches and the pale beginnings of bruises where she'd touched him, kissed him. The softness of the breath, in the dark. Despite the awkwardness he'd never experienced anything like that, anything so intense. He'd clung to her desperately. His hands shook as he bathed. Even though he still had to put on the same dirty clothes, he was less unsettled afterwards, and a little more real. He'd hoped this would return him to himself, but instead he just felt confused and stunned and his heart ached.

When she had showered too, she came back to bed and rested her wet head against his neck. "What are you thinking about?"

He shrugged vaguely. He couldn't put it to words. Now that the dust was settling, he wondered briefly if Lea were right: if this were a bad idea, if they were going too far.

"You look sad," she said. "Geez. Am I that bad in bed?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm just… I like being here. With you."

"And?"

"And." He bit his lip. "What if I don't come back? What if I'm not… the same? I thought…" His voice caught and a few tears trickled out. "I don't think it's fair, to you."

"No. We're not going there. End conversation. You're going to sit here and cuddle with me and we'll both shut the fuck up. Okay?"

The tears kept coming. "Okay."

* * *

Demyx didn't get back until well into the next afternoon. He had to leave, of course, eventually; the others would get worried. He thought about the phrase "walk of shame", and while he didn't feel ashamed, exactly, he could feel the shopkeepers' eyes on him as he passed through the marketplace. He knew he needed to decompress this mess inside him at some point. He had to stop thinking about them, together. And how easy-normal, almost—it had felt to wake up next to her, despite Aerith's pointed glance when she'd woken both of them up.

He met Aeleus in the hallway heading up towards the living quarters. A painful relief swept through him; Aeleus would not put him through the third degree. "Hey," he said.

Aeleus nodded.

"I didn't mean to stay out," he continued. "It just sort of happened."

He shrugged. "You seem capable enough."

"I hope nobody worried."

"No more than usual."

A pause. He was so hungry. He hadn't been properly hungry in a long time. "How's your arm?"

"Seems to be better." He flexed his hands. "Aerith gave me pills. Pain's almost gone."

"I'm glad. Though I don't think Even will like that you're cheating on him."

If he wasn't mistaken, Aeleus almost smiled. "You?"

"Me? I'm not hurt," he said.

"Are you doing better?"

Oh. "I think," he said.

"Go see him," Aeleus said. "Ienzo."

His heart choked him. "I don't really want to."

"They talked about it in the meeting," Aeleus said. "They don't want you vulnerable."

With the emotions leaking off him like this, Ienzo would know in a second what had happened. "Do I have to?" He asked. "I'm… I'm really tired, all right?"

Aeleus shrugged. "You don't have to. But you should."

He bit his lip. "Think I'll pass."

"Nine," he said. "Vulnerability comes with a price."

"I know!" The anger was hot, sharp, and brief. "Believe me, I know."

"It is also a tool that you can use," Aeleus said. He shrugged. "I'll take my leave."

The library. The curtains snapped in a hot, dry wind. He was shaking again and hugged himself. He saw Ienzo, head bent over some books. It took a long time to find the strength to climb the stairs, one by one. The handrail was dusty to the touch.

"Nine," Ienzo said. He flinched. "You're back."

"Hey."

The silence stretched between them, heavy and dense like a wet sponge.

"Aeleus told me to come see you," Demyx said.

"Ah. Yes. Right." He shut his book. "I truly am sorry, Nine. I shouldn't have looked through your memories without your consent."

"You said it's what they'd do anyway."

"Yes. Well. We hope to strengthen you against that."

Silence. Demyx was thirsty. Most of him wanted to make up an excuse to leave the room.

"Where were you?" Ienzo asked.

"Oh. Out. I crashed at Yuffie and Aerith's."

"You seem to be getting along well with them."

"Sure. I guess." He scratched at his neck, at the bruises only barely covered by his shirt collar. "Lea… Lea said we don't get to be people yet," he said. "What do you think about that?"

Ienzo pinched the bridge of his nose. "I think there's some merit in it," he admitted. "Don't you agree? I know your offenses are… different than ours. But you had said that the guilt drove your decision."

A rather tense moment. All of this work, all of this time spent investing in bonds with these people, was it really just an attempt to ease the guilt? No, he thought instantly. It was a life he wanted, but one that he hadn't yet earned. He exhaled—a short, sharp, painful sound.

"Sit," Ienzo said.

He perched on the hard wooden chair. He thought he might cry, or worse. "Look, it's been a long few days."

"I agree wholeheartedly."

"So what do we do?"

"We begin where we left off."

Silence. Demyx waited to feel the crawling numbness of Ienzo's power, but it didn't come. He wasn't meeting his eyes. His lips were pursed. "You can do it," he said.

"Try not to think," Ienzo said.

Not thinking had become increasingly easy. Not feeling, on the other hand, was impossible. His heart was still beating erratically and the fog approached steadily in his mind. He tried to crush down each emotion in succession as it battered him. Guilt, fear, anxiety—these, on their own, were difficult to manage.

Embarrassment. Shame. He couldn't tell if he were the one neatly categorizing or sorting these feelings, or if it were Ienzo. Emptiness. A loneliness so deep and profound he thought it might strangle him. Lust. He exhaled and opened his eyes. Love. "I knew I shouldn't have come here," Demyx said. "I knew this was going to happen—"

Ienzo stared at him, wide-eyed but calculating. "Nine," he began.

"Lea already gave me the speech. About not getting in too deep here. And Aeleus was telling me not to be vulnerable. I know, okay? I was stupid."

"They will use this against you."

"I know." Another hot pain shot through his chest and choked off his breath. He clutched at his scars. "Shit."

"What's wrong?" Fear rose in Ienzo's eyes. "I barely touched you—"

"No, it feels… different…"

"'Different' doesn't mean 'better'," Ienzo said.

"It's already going away," Demyx said. "It's probably just a nerve pain or something…"

"Your nerves regenerated. You shouldn't feel any intense pain anymore."

He felt woozy.

"Let me see," Ienzo said, reaching for Demyx's chin. He jerked away.

"I'll be fine—" His voice was weak and breathy and not at all assuring.

"I think I rather liked more it when you complained all the time," Ienzo snapped. "How do you feel? What's happening? Is it a memory?"

"No, my chest, it—" His hands were tingling and he was feverish.

"I'm sorry, Nine, but I have to," Ienzo said. He touched Demyx's forehead and stared at him. "Hang on."


	25. Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange dream leaves Demyx convinced he's still rapidly deteriorating.

XXV.

Dust

The air was dark and thick and choking. He couldn't see in front of him; he practically had to wade through the humidity.

"Ienzo?" He called. "Ienzo—where—"

No response. Demyx froze and hoped that if he stayed still long enough, he would wake up. He wouldn't think about what this meant. Not yet. This was just another mission, just another thing to get through.

His body felt strange and numb, and each breath made the roof of his mouth tingle. It had no smell; no dust, no smoke, nothing. He wished he had a flashlight. He reached to his side for the knife and drew it, though he wouldn't be able to see anything coming at him. He couldn't  _hear_  much of anything either, other than his own panicked breathing, which only heightened the pain tightening around his throat.

He squinted. Maybe his eyes were adjusting, but he thought he saw—or imagined—something in the distance, a faint yellowish light. Maybe it was Ienzo, trying to get his attention with that stupid pen light. He took trembling step forward. The ground was very hard, and dry; he knelt to touch it and came up with a handful of sand that was surprisingly blistering to the touch. Below the dirt, he swore he felt glass, or something similar, and he probed at it desperately. The surface was warped and slightly stippled. He wondered for half a second where he might be, before realizing that he probably didn't want to know.

He treaded through the dust towards the light. His hand ached against the bone handle of the knife, but he didn't dare let go. The ground was flat, and for that he was grateful. The light didn't seem to grow much brighter, or much bigger, but remained a pinprick. He couldn't feel his own heartbeat, and fumbled for a pulse, only to find none.

"Ienzo!" His own voice carried off into the darkness. "Ienzo!"

He listened hard, hand cupped against his ear. In the distance, barely audible, he heard the response. "Nine?"

"Thank god," he said. "Thank god. I'm over here!"

"Nine?"

He hadn't heard him. Demyx ran faster towards the light. It had to be him; he'd had that light shown in his eyes too many times not to recognize it.

The ground pitched forward, catching his shins and pitching him instantly into ice cold fluid. It dragged him under, and no matter how hard he kicked at it, he couldn't seem to get his head above the surface. His lungs burned sharply, and he fought harder, dropping the knife in the abyss. He opened his eyes. There was some light here, and color, a deep soporific blue. It seemed to have no beginning or end.

If he had no pulse here, was he even capable of drowning? He was already so fucked; he didn't know what else could be worse. He waited for the water to sear through his lungs, but nothing happened. It felt like stale air.

For a moment he treaded in the fluid, struck by a bitter and hysterical urge to laugh. On the ground, he saw the knife glinting slightly in the weird blue glow, and swam towards it to have something concrete to do.

It got colder the deeper he went, searing into his bones and making it hard to move. Breathing started to hurt. Only a few more feet, and then he could turn back. And then what? Stay here forever?

He was starting to seize up from the cold. He stuck out a hand. His fingertips brushed up against the sharpness of the blade and everything disappeared in a sharp swirl of brightness.

* * *

Bright, dazzling heat. Too much of it. It crowded his lungs. Demyx shivered. His skin was tacky with sweat. Something was warm and wet; with a painful jolt of anxiety he realized he'd wet himself.

"The  _fuck_ ," he spat. He dragged the hair out of his eyes and pulled his knees towards his chest to try and hide the stain. He grappled for his neck and felt his pulse, fast and erratic. He was still on the floor of the library, on the musty old carpet. He tasted blood; he'd also bitten the inside of his cheek. "Ienzo?" He called weakly. "Where—" He tried to sit up all the way, but his limbs were burning. He lay there on his side, and wondered if it was worth sacrificing the rest of his dignity to cry for help. The knife, in its holster, pressed against his hip. Maybe he was so sick he'd crossed fully over into delirium, but he swore that felt hot too, like a brand—

He wasn't sure how long he was there before they found him. Even and Aeleus this time. Even fretted, feeling at his vitals, and Demyx barely listened to his usual litany of what they'd done wrong.

"Where's Ienzo?" He asked hoarsely.

"He came to get help. He's all right," Aeleus told him.

"What do you feel?" Even asked. "What happened?" The same accursed light in the eyes.

"It's so hot," he said. "Why is it so hot?"

"You've got a pretty high fever," he said in that voice that was supposed to be reassuring. The light froze, and so did his expression. He grabbed Demyx's chin and stared, again. "Take him. We have to go."

Aeleus gently pulled Demyx's knees away and for a moment he struggled, not wanting them to see. Aeleus paused for a moment, but just slightly.

"I'm sorry," Demyx said.

"Never you mind," Even said briskly. "It could have been much worse."

Between that and being carried like an infant, he felt small and weak and incompetent. Even made him take an ice bath. Demyx heard them, through the cracked door in the kitchen, whispering conspiratorially. He thought-briefly and with an intensity that scared him-that he might like to die right then. It was hard to remember that barely a day before he'd been happy with Yuffie.

He didn't say anything and Even kept treating him. He took the pills offered without comment and didn't even flinch when Even slid the IV needle into his hand. "A precaution," Even said. "You were fairly dehydrated. Get some rest." He turned to leave the room.

So Demyx did. He slept so deeply he was sure he'd been drugged and woke up disoriented in the gray of early dawn. He took out the needle, again, and watched the blood pool for a moment before stoppering it. He got dressed on autopilot and tried to fix his hair, but it needed to be cut, hanging lank around his shoulders. For some reason this sign of time passing made him incredibly uncomfortable.

He did laundry in lukewarm water and dragged the basket up to the high turret where the clothesline was. Someone's anonymous white bedding hung here as well, snapping in a slight breeze.

Demyx looked over down at the town. He could see everything, from Villain's Vale to the residential district to the marketplace. He couldn't tell if he wanted a strong coffee or a drink or a cigarette, or some combination of the three. He looked at the clothesline, which was a rough accumulation of almost everything he owned: four shirts, five undershirts, three pairs of jeans, and a week's worth of underwear and linen pajamas. He could feel himself getting ready to go down the rabbit hole towards a nice hard cry when he heard footsteps.

"Need we watch you around heights now?" A deep voice asked.

Demyx sighed; it was only Dilan. His long dark braids were piled on top of his head. "Just doing laundry," he said.

Dilan surveyed Demyx's wardrobe. Even the bright yellow plaid shirt was starting to look washed out and faded. "We didn't always have to get everything secondhand," he said, and began to fold his sheets. "I detest all this patching, this reusing, this sense of desperation and scarcity. It's horrifically undignified."

Demyx thought immediately of the mostly empty shelves in the marketplace. Nobody was starving, of course, there were some imports from Traverse Town and the like; but you never could get what you really wanted. "…It could be worse."

"Yes, yes. Quite." Dilan frowned.

"Aerith said she and Cid are going to try and expand the gardens. So there are more fresh things to eat. I might help them. I could at least do the irrigation." He thought of the look on Even's face when he'd checked him yesterday, and wondered if it were even safe to use his powers.

"I bet you'd enjoy that," he said dryly.

Dilan was starting to piss him off. "Look, I'm sorry you hate it here, but I'm trying to make the best of things, at least while I'm still around. Okay?"

To his surprise, Dilan laughed. "Certainly you needn't defend yourself to me." He piled the rest of his things into his wicker basket and looked down at the path leading up to the castle. "Oh, look, is that stray here for you?"

Sure enough, he saw a small dark figure darting up towards the service entrance. What was Yuffie doing here so early? A deep twinge of anger towards Dilan dissolved the tears in his throat. "Don't call her that," he said.

Dilan smiled. "Right. Of course. My apologies."

It seemed like a very long walk down to meet her. He was strangely sore and every step seemed to jolt his whole skeleton. They ran into each other halfway up the stairs heading towards the rest of the rooms. His heart was racing. "Hey, Yuffie."

He evidently startled her, because she jumped. "Hey, you. I didn't think you'd be up."

"Yeah, I had… things to do."

A beat of silence. The space between them seemed wide and almost insurmountable. "I was going to surprise you," she said. "I was going to see if you wanted to go for a walk."

"Now?"

"Yeah, I know, it's early." She shrugged. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't worth it."

The words took a little too long to process. "Sure. Yeah. Let's go."

Another moment of stillness. "…You all right?" Yuffie asked.

"It's a bit of a long story." He smiled and wished it didn't feel forced. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," she said.

They kissed quickly, awkwardly, because the stairs made their height difference even greater.

"So let's get going," she continued. "I want to get there before it gets light."

She took him down the path deep into the crystal fissures. "Even took me here once," he said. "When I was training my powers."

"It's a good place to do it. Lots of places to hide."

It was getting to be past light now, and the land was drenched in rose-gold light. She looked happy, excited, and he wished he could be, too, but he was in too much pain. The land seemed to be blurring against itself.

"We missed sunrise," she said. She frowned. "Well, no sense turning back now."

It was another curious hollow in the side of a monolith. He swore he heard running water. "How do you find these places?" Demyx asked her, feeling somewhat dizzy.

"It  _used_  to be full of Heartless," Yuffie said. "But Sora cleaned it out, and then not long after it became a spring. Sometimes when I'm on patrol, I end up wandering. And I find this stuff." The water was very clear, slightly illuminated by the crystals and the weak morning light. It was a small crater in the ground, about seven meters in diameter, with rough outcroppings every few paces. She went around the edge of the crater and took off her shoes. "You coming?"

It took some effort. He undid the holster of his weapon and sat down next to her at the edge. He rolled up his jeans and eased one toe in. Like the nightmare, the water was ice-cold, and he flinched.

She took his hand and touched the tiny red mark the needle had left. "This is from a butterfly needle. What happened?"

"I don't know," he said. "I don't—" Heat built behind his eyes and he told her about what had happened. "I don't know what it means. I might be getting worse."

"Oh shit."

"I'm sorry," he said. The tears were hot against his face.

She tucked her arms around him and for a while he cried against her neck. The deep, paralyzing fear of deterioration he'd been staving off closed around his heart. By the time he stopped panicking the light coming into the hollow was strong and white.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "You wanted to have fun, and I—"

"Don't worry about it," she said uneasily. She wiped the dampness off of her throat. "I figured you might like to get away for a little while."

"Yeah. I really did." He laughed awkwardly.

She kissed the wetness off his face, and then moved down to his mouth. For a moment everything was okay; everything was calm. He tightened his arms around her, feeling again warm and tingling.

She broke away before he was ready. She stood up and stripped, rather unembarrassed, down to her underwear. "Come on. I want to go swimming."

He looked away, face burning. "Think I'm good."

"Please? You always complain that it's hot."

His hands still shook in his lap. "You can go. I don't really feel up to it." He had never felt less like himself. Suddenly even his fake name was far too constraining. Was that why everything in his head had been so empty and dark?

Yuffie jumped into the pool and shrieked, spraying him with water. "Fuck, that's cold!"

She swam to the other edge, shivering slightly. "Come on," she said, splashing in his direction. "We can warm it up."

He smiled weakly. "Not ideal."

She swam over to him and leaned against the edge. "It'll be okay," she said.

He wasn't so sure. Instead he started unbuttoning his shirt and, finally, the jeans. He slid into the water. It jolted his whole system. He pushed himself down towards the bottom; it was probably close to six meters at the deepest. The water was very fresh and very clear, and for a moment he felt bad tainting it. He saw her blurry form not far above. He waited until his lungs started to burn, and then a little longer, but before he could brave himself into trying his powers she seized his hand and pulled him to the surface.

"What were you doing?" She asked.

"Just sitting there," he said breathlessly. "Trying my powers."

"Don't do that," she said.

"I'm not going to drown," he said. "I know what I'm doing." As he said it, it felt like a lie.

Yuffie swam back to a shallower part of the pool and floated on her back. Her expression was harsh and morose, and for a moment she looked like a different person. He treaded over to her.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"It's okay," she said. She straightened up. "I don't like thinking about you that way. As a Nobody, I mean."

"I know." Demyx floated too. The crystals, even without direct light, glinted slightly in the ceiling overhead. "Listen," he said to her. With his ears underwater he sounded strange, warped. "I—"

She put her hand in his. Her skin was already pickled from the water. He sat up against the ledge. The cold water in his hair trickled down his back. She touched his face as if to memorize it, across the bones and hollows. She laughed, slowly at first, then a little more hysterically. They clung to each other.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

She kissed him. His heart still ached and he heard his breath catch. There was nobody around, not for at least a kilometer, but he felt… exposed. Despite body heat they both shivered. "Do you want to get out?" she asked.

"Yeah, maybe."

"Your lips are blue," she said. She touched them.

"You're not much better." They edged away from the pool. He wished he had a towel.

"I think I can do something about that."

It felt more desperate now, as though they were running out of time. He brought her down onto the ground alongside him. The floor of the hollow wasn't exactly smooth, or comfortable. Outside of the water, the air was warmer, and more feeling came back into his body. She pressed against him, slipping her legs around him and drawing their hips together. It wasn't dark here, it was bright, which meant he could see everything; which meant she could, too. For a second he stopped.

"What?" She asked. "You're okay."

He clutched at his sopping undershirt.

"Oh," she said. "I forget this is all sort of new for you."

"I want to," he said. "But—"

"I don't mind it," she said.

"I know."

"I don't think you do," she said. She peeled off the undershirt and a chill that had nothing to do with cold shot through him. "I've made my peace with who you are, all right? Demyx?" She held eye contact for just a second too long and he glanced away. "Don't be scared."

"I'm not." He wasn't, not of the act itself, but how he was feeling. "That was the first time you ever said my name." He hadn't heard it in so long; it was jarring.

"Oh." She thought about this, pale for a second, and looked around as though somebody might be listening. "I guess it was, wasn't it?"

The second time was a little easier in some ways, more difficult in others. His hands tightened in her hair and she eased the rest of their clothing all the way off. He could see her scar clearly for the first time. He touched it lightly and a felt something waking up inside of him, something that had been hidden by the fear. He was getting pulled to a million different places in his body even before they started. They touched each other sloppily. A bright, sharp need filled him and he didn't know how to deal with it. This was all so new. He was on the verge of tears again. "I—" Just say it. "I—"

"Don't," she said. "Please." She touched his face, with a strange expression, and brought them together loosely and messily. There was something less controlled than before, less restrained. The intensity of the ending shook him into silence and he was vaguely embarrassed.

After, she went back to the pool and dove in and was under so long he was concerned. He tried to catch his breath and crouched over the water, looking for her and trying to remember how to do CPR.

Her head poked through the surface. "Me too," she said. "All right?"


	26. Chords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx had a breakthrough concerning his memory. A visitor shakes things up.

XXVI.

Chords

So much for a fun date.

They went home. It was only afternoon, but he was drained. He collected his laundry and then lay in bed. He heard her words, over and over again, and they twisted such a complicated mixture of joy and pain that he thought he might be sick.

Demyx forced himself to eat. His anxiety was mounting again, making him feverish and weak. Despite his exhaustion he started moving to try and alleviate it. His hands hurt. His whole body hurt. His head pounded. Was this just a panic attack, or was something really happening?

He wandered aimlessly through the hallways, counting each breath. He thought he heard something—a soft pinging—and he followed the sound absently. Music, he realized, tinny and canned and trapped. It had been so long since he'd heard any, at all, not with everything going on. Had somebody found a working radio? Who would be broadcasting?

It was the same pattern repeating, over and over again. Four succeeding tones. The piano room, he realized. Who was in there?

Ienzo, slumped over the keys, one hand in his hair, playing four notes resolutely with his right hand. Over and over, with barely a pause between.

"…Arpeggio," Demyx said suddenly. The room around him seemed to jerk slightly, but nothing moved.

Ienzo on the bench. His eyes were bloodshot. "Yes," he said.

"D Major?" The vocabulary came to him naturally, as though he'd never forgotten it.

"A Minor, actually. Close."

"Why the arpeggio?"

"Because everything flourishes in simplicity, wouldn't you agree?"

Demyx sat next to him. He placed his hand next to Ienzo's, one octave higher. He played the same arpeggio, and with the left hand, a complementing harmony.

"You're back," Ienzo said.

"I guess so." Everything looked slightly different; colors a little brighter, textures slightly rougher against his skin. "I feel—" He hesitated.

"Play it for me."

He paused. A right hand song. B-Flat. Sliding smoothly from note to note to note, a chromatic ascent. He didn't know how to end it.

"Your name?"

"Still gone."

"I had hoped that it healed. Even feared the worst."

"So did I." His heart beat strangely in his chest. "The knife," he said suddenly. "Was it—"

"It's possible."

Demyx took the knife out of his holster and looked at it. It seemed to glow slightly, though that may have been the alloy.

"I suppose you must feel relieved," Ienzo said.

"Strangely, I don't. Actually, I'm super anxious. But I do feel more… me." It would figure that this was no orgasmic revelation. "What did you do?"

"Brushed away some dust," Ienzo said. ""Vulnerability is a tool." I saw that in your memory. Aeleus was right."

"Do you think it's because I'm in love?"

"It's a contributing factor, no doubt. The light in her heart, when you made a connection, for the first time in maybe your whole life…"

His hands shook.

"You're not healed. It's imperfect. The danger is still there."

Demyx put the knife away. He shut his eyes, feeling the weight of his body, the faint rhythm of his heart. He played a C chord. Tears gushed, suddenly and indiscriminately, from his eyes. "Oh my god." C, G7, A. A scale. His hands were clumsy and out of practice but it was there, it was all there. The piano was so beautifully discordant.

"You're human, Nine," Ienzo said. "I was wrong to admonish you."

"I should have listened."

He stood. "Should I leave you be? To practice?"

"No. I don't want to be alone."

He sat down, gingerly. "Will you play something?"

"I don't know what."

"Anything."

He stumbled through the song of Ansem the Wise's, the one Ienzo had showed him some weeks ago. It sounded rough to his ears, and harsh, because he couldn't keep up with the complicated rhythm. The song ended, and the silence pressed tight around them. His eyes were raw. "I guess I should say thanks," he said at last. "I wish I could help you, too."

"No need." Ienzo patted his arm. "I'm going to go rest."

* * *

Demyx met Lea down by his house shortly after. He was sitting on the stoop, eyes unfocused, a brilliant scabby scratch all down one cheek. "Hey," Demyx said.

"Oh, hey, what's up," he said dully.

"What's got you down in the dumps?"

Lea grinned, but his eyes were distant. "Look at you. You're back."

"Ienzo said the same thing. Is it really that noticeable?"

"You carry yourself differently. You always looked… I don't know… like such a zombie." He scootched over and patted the spot next to him.

Demyx sat down. He shut his eyes and let the warmth of the sun wash over him. "Your knife," he said suddenly. "You can probably have it back now."

"Have you tried calling your weapon?" He reached into his pocket, took out a cigarette, and lit it with his bare hands.

"…You're almost as bad as Cid," Demyx said.

"Oh, please. This is the only thing that makes me feel half human." He laughed to himself, darkly. "So why'd you come? To bum off me again?"

That laughter made him feel uncomfortable deep in the pit of his stomach. "Not my fault you keep offering. No. I just wanted to talk, I guess."

Lea smiled to himself. "Talk away."

There were so many things he wanted to talk about, all of them deeply personal. Demyx wanted to ask Lea about the New Organization, and things about Sora, about Roxas, Isa, and the strangeness of this new life. He wanted to ask Lea if he'd ever been in love. "I…" he trailed off. "I'm… scared."

"Well, shit. Of course you are. I am too."

"Is it bad, there?" He couldn't bring himself to make eye contact.

"It's… I don't know how to describe it. Chaos, but there's something in the air, you know? Paranoia, you might call it. Of each other. Of everything. It's the feeling they want strangers to have, too. I didn't sleep for three days when I went. I still have trouble." Lea shook his head. "I got so desperate I went to the eggheads for help about it. I get these… nightmares."

"About?"

"About everything, I guess." He shrugged. "What I've done. What I could do. Things they do, and to who, and how." He had finished his first cigarette and rubbed at his neck. "It's disturbing. And then I think about the fact that we're sending you into this. And I know that whatever happens to you will feel like my fault."

Demyx was starting to feel nauseous. "Don't worry about me. You never did before." His attempt at humor fell flat.

"Well. Things are different now. We're both different. Look at us. I'm a hero." He said this dryly. "And you're helping the committee, helping everyone you can, trying to get stronger."

"I'm doing it for me," he said quietly.

"I know. I am, too."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. The afternoon was starting to lose a bit of its edge. "I miss clouds," Demyx said. "And rain. I would kill for some rain, right about now." He stretched out his legs and looked at his worn sneakers.

"So make some."

"Do you know how much energy that takes? Especially when it's this dry? It would kill me first." He cast out his consciousness for a moment, just because he could. There was still a bit more resistance than there had been before reformation, but less so than after. He could feel Lea's blood, and his own, and not much else in the strained air. The meager reservoir just outside town. The few tanks of stale water. Some tired people, hanging around. Here and there, sticky patches of darkness where Heartless must be. "This is so weird. How it just clicked."

"Happened for me that way too, with the Keyblade. You work and you work and nothing happens. Then all of a sudden, poof! There it is. Usually when the time is most dramatic."

"…It was pretty dramatic, wasn't it?" he said, more to himself than to Lea. Lea shoved a cigarette into his peripheral. "Thanks."

"I'm feeling pretty generous."

"You enable me."

Lea smiled. They both smoked for a while. Demyx figured his powers must have been working better, because the heat didn't feel as oppressive. It was definitely some magic bullshit, he decided. "Well, I'm gonna make the rounds," Lea said. "You're free to come with me. I don't mind the company."

He thought about this. It wasn't exactly what he wanted to do, but he didn't like that look in Lea's eyes. "Sure. Why not?"

Lea chuckled. "Right. Come on, then. As long as I don't have to protect your sorry ass."

They walked back towards town. The air was quiet, and still, with barely a hot breeze to stir it. Soon it would be August. "Why are they having me wait so long to go?" Demyx asked.

"A few different reasons, each a little more valid," Lea said. "Well, first, the longer you wait, the more you can pretend the deterioration has worsened. You can play frantic. Then there's the war. We're trying to push more on them, trying to make them feel desperate, in general, so they'll be more reckless in what they do, and more vulnerable. And when that happens, they'll take whoever they can get. Just how it happened the first time around. Third… getting you back into shape. Getting you "ready"."

He thought about this. "But wouldn't it be more convincing if I went to them weak?"

"Maybe. But then they would be all the more likely to dispose of you, if you couldn't be of use to them."

Demyx shuddered. Thinking about that cold, white castle… of everything that had ever happened in it… made him shivery and anxious again. Organization training had been brutal, and weeks-long. He saw it through a dim veil in his head. It wasn't just physical and mental training, or even training of his powers. Extensive survival training; learning how to cope with all sorts of terrain, all sorts of food sources, finding water, tying knots, orienteering. Reading the stars, before they got to be so few. Stealth. Learning to read the land of each world, its people, and what all the little details added up to be, what they might mean. He'd been good at intel-sitting, waiting, and observing every little thing as it passed. His mind was hardwired for it, because seeing such details has been crucial to surviving to adulthood in his harsh desert homeworld. Noticing a bit of off color or texture might mean finding something to eat, or drink, or avoiding some poisonous creature in the wild.

He wasn't sure how this would work. How much of it would be like old times? Doing missions… sowing seeds of destruction… passing drops of information back and forth. Would it be worth it? Would he really be helping more people than hurting, in the end?

Providing, of course, that he survived whatever initiation that he was sure to go through sane. What if they brainwashed him? Violated him? Crammed another fragment of heart or soul inside of him? He gagged on the thought.

"Look, there's one," Lea said. "A weak one. Get ready."

It was a Heartless, a small Shadow. It skated towards them, eager and hungry. The stickiness of its darkness, in his mind, felt kind of numbing.

"Why don't you get it?" Lea asked. "I think you can handle it."

The Heartless leapt towards them, so slowly he could have sidestepped it. A quick cross swipe with the knife and it vanished back into the summer air. "That was anticlimactic," Demyx said.

Lea shrugged. "Most of the time it is. Not like this is new to you, anyway." He squinted into the comparative darkness of the Bailey. "Well, look what the cat dragged in."

Luxord's Somebody was waiting there for them like they'd arranged this. "I could say the same for you lads. Lea. Nine."

"Hey," Demyx said uneasily. Ten never just visited anymore.

"What can we do you for?" Lea asked. His eyes were stiff and guarded.

"I was hoping to borrow our friend for a chat," Ten said. He took his cards out of his pocket and shuffled them so quickly Demyx had trouble seeing them. "Unless the two of you have business."

Immediately Demyx's anxiety shot up. He swallowed the excess spit that had suddenly welled in his mouth.

"No, I think I can release him into the wild," Lea said. He slapped Demyx on the shoulder. While the gesture was meant to be playful, it actually hurt quite a bit, and he flinched. Demyx watched Lea retreat into the shadows.

"Shall we go for a stroll, then?" Ten asked.

"Where to?" He could feel sweat gathering under his arms.

"Oh, I've no preference. I could do with a cup of tea, actually. Shall we?"

Demyx numbly followed Ten to the marketplace. Ten ordered two cups of iced tea, but Demyx felt too sick to drink it.

"You've become quite the local. Are there any good places for us to sit and catch up?" the Somebody's expression was easy and light.

"Sure," Demyx said. He brought Ten back up through the construction sight to the postern, and there they sat, watching the town and sipping the weak sweetened tea. Demyx tried to keep his breathing level. "I take it you're not here just to talk to me."

Ten smiled sadly. He set his tea on the ledge next to him and brought out the cards again. He fanned them and offered the hand to Demyx. "Pick a card, any card."

Demyx took one. He'd never actually touched Luxord's cards before, and they were heavier and more substantial than regular cards. The back of the card had a slightly raised surface, and he stroked it absently. "Am I not supposed to tell you what it is?" A nine of hearts glared back at him, blood red. Demyx was getting really fucking sick of the number.

Ten took the card from him, studied it, and smiled. "Yes," he said. "I'd thought so."

"What does it mean?" Demyx asked.

"You've changed," Ten said. "You must feel the difference."

"Is that… good?" He wasn't so sure. Ten's face was so hard to read.

He didn't respond immediately. "We've always had a warm rapport, you and I, Nine," he began. "I know I shouldn't tell you this, but I feel I cannot in good conscience be silent. Isn't it amazing, how one's consciousness shifts, once one has a heart?"

"What?" Demyx asked in a low voice. "What is it?"

Luxord's Somebody squeezed his hand firmly. His skin was dry and strangely cold. "There are so many uncertainties, but lately your futures have been twisting together into one linear path. Your heart has changed. Your decision has been made, as much as you dread it. But I'm afraid it'll all be in vain."


	27. Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx has to confront a horrible truth about his upcoming mission.

XXVII.

Confusion

A tingling shot up the back of Demyx's neck. "In vain?" he repeated. He shook his head. "You mean… I'm going to die?"

Luxord's Somebody hesitated. "I cannot say exactly," he said.

"You can't tell me or you don't know?" Demyx was surprised at the sharpness of his own voice. He felt like he had been plunged deep into his body.

"You may be paying for more than you receive," Ten said. "That's all I'm at liberty to say."

"Then why tell me? Why let me know if I don't have a choice?"

Ten took a sip of his tea. "Who says you don't have a choice? Tell me, Nine. Do you believe in fate?"

His stomach was churning. He looked over the edge at the ground far below.

"Fate is mere a result of the choices you've made," Ten continued. "Should you change your mind, your future would change as well."

"Why?" Demyx repeated again. "Do you want me to run away? Is that it?"

"What do  _you_  want?" The Somebody asked. "Now that you've rejoined yourself."

Demyx thought for one tremulous moment. His mind was racing and his heart had started to ache. He thought of Yuffie, of the music he could make now that that part of himself was starting to grow again, of the friends or the people who could be his friends. The life was there, waiting. Did it matter if he hadn't earned it?

"Your heart has changed," Ten repeated again. "Remember that." The way his bright blue eyes bore into Demyx's told him that there was something obvious he wasn't quite grasping.

"What does that mean?" Demyx asked. The stress was starting to overwhelm him and he turned away from the postern edge. His pulse raced. "I am so  _sick_  of people being enigmatic—"

"I have already told you more than I should have—"

"Who makes the rules? What will stop you, exactly?" His voice rang against the stone.

"Nine—"

"If one more fucking person calls me Nine…" He trailed off, unable to complete the threat. The adrenaline was pouring through his body.

Ten's eyebrows shot up. "Wait—"

But Demyx was already gone.

* * *

He let his legs do the work, and ran.

All the training and work had paid off. It was a long while before he exhausted himself. When he finally collapsed onto the cool stone of the crystal fissures, it was starting to get dark. His lungs were positively scalding and he knew that his legs would be virtually unusable in a few hours. He lay on his back and stroked the rough mineral sand that gently coated the heavy blue stone.

There should have been stars starting to peek out now. There was next to nothing.

He forced himself to sit up. His muscles were trembling and he was soaked with sweat.

It was the first time that he had ever been forced to consider that this mission might kill him.

Violation, he had expected. Torture, sure. Some sort of grim, soul-reaping initiation? Of course. But death? And if he took what Ten said at face value, then if he left Radiant Garden, he wasn't coming back.

Demyx realized that he didn't want to die. He wanted to be human, to get to know these intense emotions constantly draining him, to make art. To love and to be loved. He'd never gotten to do any of these things before. Something, or someone, was always taking that choice away from him, at least until Sora's Keyblade struck him down. He doubted dying would be as easy as it had been the first time.

The tears started so quietly that at first he thought it was just more sweat. What was he supposed to do now? What would make him more whole? The nobility of self-sacrifice? Or this whole second life? And would any of it be worth it if he didn't live through it?

If he chose not to go on this mission, what would the others say? Would they be disappointed? Would they reject him wholly? And Yuffie? She was so committed to protecting her town. If she had the choice, he knew she'd go, and go out with a bang. He couldn't imagine starting over alone. The thought of having nobody again was too much to bear. Who would want him if he chose so selfishly?

By the time he was found he couldn't breathe. His lungs were shaking but there was no sound, only a curious silence. A light shone down on him and he squinted to see who it was.

"What are you doing here?" Lea asked. "Oh, god. What did he tell you?"

Demyx couldn't speak. The fact that he had let himself get into this awful sniveling state was bad enough. He struggled to get to his feet but his calves were already screaming. He stumbled and Lea caught his elbow before he fell.

"Are you hurt?"

His sides were aching.

Lea shook him. "Talk to me," he said a little more forcefully. He held Demyx out at arm's length, studying him through the soft light of the fire in his palm. "What did he tell you?"

A thick, guttural animal sob escaped his throat. He pressed his hands over his mouth. Lea eased him back down to the ground. The fire he held in his hands cast strange shadows on his face. The heat pressed against Demyx's skin.

Once the tears stopped, there was nothing left but pure exhaustion. A new shade of numbness had filled him. He looked down at his own hands, warped in the firelight. "I'm going to die," he said.

"…What?" Lea asked.

"Luxord. Ten. He told me that I'm going to die."

A weak, hot breeze stirred the flames in Lea's palm. Demyx couldn't read his expression, but it looked harsh. When he finally spoke, he didn't offer comfort or even show surprise. He simply said, "I know."

That was the last thing Demyx expected to hear. "Did everyone know?"

Demyx could see Lea struggling to respond. The length of time it took told him everything he needed to know.

"They knew," Demyx said to himself. The numbness flooded him like lead.

"It had to be your choice," Lea said.

"Why?"

Lea hesitated.

" _Tell me why._ " His breath hissed through his teeth and he tensed, ready to stop the flow of blood to Lea's muscles.

Lea raised his hands. The fire played along the left, perilously close to his shirt. "Easy. Easy, alright?"

"Fuck you," Demyx said. Something inside him was collapsing. "How long have you known?"

"These things don't get  _finalized_ ," Lea said.

Demyx reached with his consciousness. Before he could even get at Lea's vascular system he was already in a headlock. The flame had been snuffed, leaving them in near perfect darkness. Lea's bony arm crushed his airway and he choked. Demyx pushed harder, feeling the veins in Lea's left arm. A pair of fingers struck a certain point next to his neck, and he blacked out.

* * *

His ears were ringing and there was something wrong inside his body.

Demyx struggled to push through into alertness, but something was keeping him from it. It tasted sweet, and sickly. It was hard to move or do much more than slit open his eyes. The room he was in was bright, and the ground he was laying on was wooden and a little dusty. His wrists hurt. He heard voices, one loud and yelling, the other quiet and measured. All the sound was muffled, as were his powers, which draped over him like a musty carpet. It felt like someone had reached into his consciousness, ripped it out, and paralyzed it. Which, he realized, someone probably had.

The jolt of adrenaline didn't quite shake whatever he had been drugged with, but it did help him open his eyes. His wrists were bound with a soft purple cloth and, strangely, someone had put a pillow under his head.

He didn't recognize this room. There were huge pieces of furniture covered in white sheets, and the smell of mothballs was overpowering. It was hot, too. Demyx wiggled his wrists. The binding was too tight to give much motion, but not tight enough to cut off circulation. He recognized the knotting right away. He'd been taught exactly how to get out of this hold in the Organization.

It took a while, in his drugged state, and judicious use of his teeth. When he finally had his hands free he had gotten over the worst of the sedation, though his ears still rung and his mind was still foggy. He spotted a wastepaper basket and groaned, mostly because he knew a way that might shake the rest of the drug, and it wasn't pleasant. There was practically nothing in his stomach when he forced himself to throw up, and his hands tasted like sweat and dirt. It must have been hours, if not longer, because the light streaming through the window was bright.

Standing was even worse than the vomiting, and he nearly blacked out again. Someone had taken his knife, leaving him with an empty holster. His legs were still brilliantly sore, and each step was agony. At least his hearing was starting to work again.

What the fuck was going on?

He crossed over the door of the room. Unsurprisingly, it was locked. He searched the room as quickly as his compromised state would allow for something that would allow him to get out: to break the lock, or lift the hinges. He debated just breaking the door down, but his legs were too sore for kicking, and there was nothing in the room he could lift that would do the trick. Besides, it was a solid, old wood, and it would take too much force.

He approached the window. This whole situation had awoken in him something dark, something Organization-y. He'd never had to use these skills before in this castle. He wondered if it was a part of the real Demyx, if he'd always had to struggle like this. He had a feeling that was the answer was yes.

Before he could start calculating his options, the lock rattled. Demyx snatched the piece of purple cloth. It was the only possible weapon he had. He wasn't sure he would be able to go through with… whatever it was, but he needed the option.

In walked Ienzo. There was a rather tense moment where Ienzo looked at him, the trash can, and the cloth in his hands. Ienzo shut the door.

"Yes," he said. "I told them this is what would happen. Even insisted on disabling your powers. I said it was barbaric."

Demyx squeezed the cloth.

"You must be disoriented," Ienzo said. "The sedation doesn't help, but neither does the shock." He took a step closer.

"Don't fucking move," Demyx hissed through his teeth.

"Alright. I'll stay all the way over here." Ienzo made a big show of his empty hands, but Demyx knew he didn't need a single thing to incapacitate him. He'd already done that with Demyx's own memories.

"I need answers," Demyx said. "No more lying. No more averting."

"I'm afraid I don't know much," Ienzo said.

"Bullshit," he spat. "Lea told me you all knew from the beginning I was going to die."

"If I'm correct, so did you," Ienzo said. He looked so small standing there, but Demyx doubted he could overpower him. He was already starting to tremble all over; probably some stupid side effect of whatever medicine gagged his powers. "Your deterioration, Nine. This was a long shot from the beginning."

"That's not what this is about," he said. "Ten told me that if I went on this mission that it would kill me."

"I thought you had accepted that risk," Ienzo said unwaveringly.

His head was already spinning with confusion. "I  _thought_  that they would try to break me, or put a bit of him inside me," he continued. "Not that I would…"

"Did you think the stress of that would have no effect on your condition?" Ienzo asked calmly.

"I thought I was getting better." The anger was cooling. The cloth slipped in his hands. He waited to feel Ienzo's grip on his mind, but none came. How had he been so stupid? How had he not realized… "Lea said this had to be my choice."

"Survival  _was_  your choice," Ienzo said. "All along you've fought your deterioration. But this isn't something that can be fought. The fact that you decided to go on this mission is somewhat irrelevant."

"So if I don't go… the result is the same," he said. "What about Sora's light, and Yuffie? Didn't that help at all?"

"I can't say," Ienzo said. "As much as Even and I like to believe it's slowed things down, we can't know for sure. While I was highly skeptical, part of me hoped that, should you return to the Organization, they really would be able to undo what they had done to you. As impossible that must be. Why should Xehanort really care about his pawns?" He sighed. "I'm sorry, Nine. I'm sorry for this miscommunication. I can only imagine what you must be feeling."

"…And the others?" he asked. "Are they getting worse too?"

"Not as drastically as you," he said. "But yes."

He felt like he was drowning. "Can I sleep?" he asked Ienzo. "Please."

"Of course," Ienzo said. He brought him all the way back to the same familiar room, to the same hard bed. He didn't lock the door, didn't even sedate him again. Demyx slipped under the covers and let sleep come.


	28. Decided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx makes a decision about the mission.
> 
> ***This chapter is NSFW***

XXVIII.

Decided

"…So, yeah," Demyx finished lamely. He smoothed his sheets and looked away from Yuffie, towards the window. "That's what's been going on."

Yuffie's eyes were wide. She pursed her lips.

"I'm sorry," he said. "If I'd known, I never would have—"

"What are you going to do?" she asked. "Are you still going to go?"

"I don't  _know_ ," he said. "Every time I think I have an answer I lay awake all night, going back and forth… Ten says that this might not result in anything, that I might just be senselessly killing myself. I don't want to die. But I want to do the right thing. This just makes me so much more conscious of the fact that  _he_  did this to me." He mouthed the word "Xehanort." "And I just get angrier and angrier because shouldn't I  _do_  something, if I can?" He took a deep breath. "They told me to take a few weeks and think it over."

When she didn't say anything, he kept talking.

"Ever since we've… been together, I've been happy," he said. "I was myself again, like I might really survive this. But I feel like… hearing all this, now the bad parts of me are back, too. And I'm sorry, because now I'm making you deal with all this. I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you."

She took his hands. He waited to hear it, the cutting words, the final blow. He couldn't bear it. "I know you'd want me to go. I'm such a fucking coward. I always was. I can't take care of anyone. I can't even save myself. The thought of him  _hurting_  anyone else like this, it… makes me sick."

She touched his face. "I can't make this decision for you."

"I never asked you to."

"I protect those I love," she said. "Even if it means ending everything."

His heart dropped. "I know. But I've never loved anyone before now," he said. "I don't know how I'm supposed to protect you. There has to be something else, something  _better_  I can do—"

She kissed him suddenly and he wasn't quite sure if he should respond. His hand slid down her back and she shifted, tucking her legs around his waist. The want was sharp as a knife, sticking between his ribs and lower still. He ran his hands along her arms. Her lips were so soft against his throat. He felt weak and his hands shook as he slipped off his shirt. She worked off her vest and he untied her headband, kissing the spot on her forehead where it used to be.

She straddled him and he lay back near the footboard, painfully aware of how small the bed was in comparison to hers. Her thighs pressed tightly against him. She slipped off her shirt and bra and immediately went to unclasp his jeans. The suddenness of this was new to him, and exhilarating. Even so he wondered if he should ask anyway. She went to take off her own shorts but he stopped to do it for her.

They touched each other, first through the underwear, then without. His feelings were all over the place, physically and emotionally. He'd never really touched her there, and it was bizarre but incredible. She tightened her grip in his hair and wordlessly adjusted the placement of his hand.

Despite the previous urgency for a while they only kissed and touched each other, long enough for the rest of him to catch up. How much longer would they have to be together? A few weeks? Maybe a little more? Why was it he could only really appreciate this now that it was almost over?

"I can feel you thinking," she said against his throat. "Stop. It's all right."

They started making love. He tried to do what she said, letting himself feel instead of drowning in the same old misery. Their breath, their bodies against one another. For seconds or maybe minutes he would be fine, but then the thoughts would poke him like thorns. He focused on her instead, on making her feel good, feeling for when she tensed or when her breath caught and trying to remember what got which reaction.

She came not long after. He felt it through his body and kissed her but couldn't help letting go as well. For about as long as the it lasted he was certain that everything would be fine, but once the endorphins started fading and he went soft the thoughts when back to madness.

She sat up gingerly, her face flushed. "You were holding out on me," she said.

He tried to smile, but he got up too when he saw something out the window. "It's raining," he said, half in amazement, half in shock. Thin, brittle droplets broke through the haze that covered the sky. The breeze coming through the gap in the curtains was cooler than usual.

"I can't believe it," she said. "Did you do this?"

"I don't think so," he said. "I mean, if it started raining every time I came, then I should probably start masturbating as a public service. Would've solved your drought problem a long time ago."

For a second this made her laugh, but then her smile slowly faded. She picked up her underwear and put it back on.

"You could stay," he suggested lightly.

She hesitated. "I need time," she said. "Not a lot. I want a few hours to think."

"Sure," he said, dazedly. He scooped up his own underwear. Suddenly being naked had lost its appeal.

"I mean, who knows. Do that to me again and you might have a harder time getting rid of me." She was nearly dressed now. She went over to the water basin by the door and washed her hands. The stiffness of her movements told him the gravitas was an act. She kissed him once, softly, and then left. The slam of the door reverberated throughout the whole room.

For a while he sat there in his underwear, feeling the stickiness of his own sweat and listening to the sound of the rain. It was starting to get heavier, and louder, and it drew up the smell of dust. He dressed quickly and washed his hands. Then he went to the roof.

The water pattered loudly here. He turned his face upwards toward the sky, letting his pores drink in the rain and feeling it soak into his being. He spread his arms. It was rapidly becoming a downpour. For just a moment his overwrought mind relaxed and there was peace and stillness. And he made his decision.

* * *

Demyx and Yuffie started sleeping together fairly regularly.

It seemed that whenever they had more than a handful of minutes together alone it would happen. Part of him didn't mind all the physical contact, but another part of him knew that if they were having sex they didn't really have to talk. And if they talked, they would just bring up the inevitable.

So he hadn't been able to tell her about his choice. They barely exchanged more than the most casual small talk. If this sort of relationship had started naturally, it probably would have made him happy. Now, not so much. A numbness and a determination bleached out most of the anxiety.

At least the drought had broken. The air was no longer so threateningly dry, and it made his body feel better. He didn't feel so bad about letting the tub fill more than halfway.

As August wore on into September he took to training his powers alone. The first time he went out into the rocky expanse he expected the sitar to fight him, to feel the same pain he'd felt months ago. She landed in his arms like she'd never gone. He tuned the strings, ignoring the discomfort in his long-softened fingers, and set to work.

* * *

"Nine?" Ienzo's voice had taken on a soft, undemanding quality whenever he spoke to him.

Demyx looked up from his breakfast and offered a friendly, cordial smile. "How are you, Ienzo?"

"Might I speak to you?"

"Go ahead." He sipped at his coffee, barely looking up from the composition he was working on.

"You've been absent so often lately. The others and I are worried about you."

"Oh, I'm fine," he said smoothly. It didn't even feel like a lie.

"This sudden shift in your mood…"

"It's nothing to worry about," he said.

Ienzo didn't push any farther. "What is it that you're working on?" he asked. "I wasn't aware that you had been writing again. That's wonderful."

"Yes, I started a little while ago," he said. "I figure I might as well. At least while I still can."

Ienzo went still. Demyx pretended not to acknowledge this reaction and drank more coffee. He'd made it weak, and it tasted horrible. "…So you've made up your mind?" Ienzo asked.

Demyx looked up. "What else am I supposed to do?" he asked. "If I'm going to die, I might as well get it over with fast, right?" Ienzo squeezed Demyx's free hand. He pulled away. "I have some stuff I have to take care of."

"We'll talk about this later," Ienzo said. He sounded wounded, but Demyx didn't care.

* * *

Yuffie was surprised when he showed up at her door. Thick, dreary clouds covered the sky. Demyx wasn't used to seeing them anymore.

"Hi." She blinked. "Um, what's up?"

"Can we talk?" he asked.

"Well, Aerith's here—"

"I mean really talk, not…" He exhaled.

She paled. "Okay."

He held out his hand to her. Yuffie hesitated, then took it. They ended up in the bailey, not speaking for a long time. His heart was starting to race and his mouth went dry. "I wanted to tell you before you found out at the meeting." He touched her face. "I'm going."

Her eyes dropped, found some strange middle distance. "Where will you go?"

She'd misunderstood, and this made it even harder. "On the mission, Yuffie. I'm not… I'm not running away."

She put her hand over his. "Part of me hoped you would," she said.

"How could you stand me if I did? I couldn't live with it. It made me feel like… like something in me was burning," he said. "I can't sleep. It gives me nightmares. I think I have to do this. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for all this."

"Don't be," she said. "If it were me… I know."

He took the paper he'd been writing and gave it to her. Her fingers caught on the folds.

"I can't read sheet music," she said.

"It's meant to be played," he said. He brought out the sitar and offered the song to her. The composition was rough and raw; then again, so was she. He wasn't sure how well he articulated what it all meant to him. When he was done, he let the instrument vanish. "I love you." A hot flush flooded his face. "I wanted you to know."

She squeezed her eyes shut tight. A tear rolled down her face. This was why he had to go. The pain had to stop. He drew her into his arms. She held onto him so tightly it hurt his ribs. He could feel her trying not to cry even more.

For a long while they stood there like that. He didn't want to let go.

"This fucking sucks," she said to his shoulder.

"Yeah. Tell me about it."

Yuffie straightened. He tried to smile, but it fell flat. "You know how I feel. Fuck, I... do too. Love you."

"Bet you didn't think we would be like this." They turned to face the town. The sun was starting to set. It always seemed to be getting dark these days.

"No, I thought you'd be an easy lay."

He kissed her cheek. "I have to go," he said. "Ienzo wants to see me. But I'll see you tomorrow."

"Go. Do what you have to."

He felt her watching him until he was out of sight.

Ienzo was waiting for him, as were Leon and Even.

Leon's expression was somewhat bittersweet. "Thank you for this," he said to Demyx. "You have no idea what this means to us."

"I sort of do," Demyx said. He tried to keep his tone light, because if he didn't make himself smile he was going to lose it. "I mean, I know how valuable good intelligence is. That's why I always got my ass handed to me by Isa when I wrote shitty reports."

"We have a few things to talk about," Leon said. "We've set a date for your departure. We'd like you to leave in two weeks."

It sent a nervous shimmer through his body. "Okay," he said evenly.

"Before then..."

"Perhaps I'd best explain," Ienzo said. His expression was oddly blank, telling Demyx he must actually be feeling something stronger. "Your body and powers seem to be in reasonably good shape. We'd like to spend the next few weeks…"

Even's face was harsh. "We need to make sure you can handle the strain of interrogation," he said.


	29. The Mock-up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Demyx to leave Radiant Garden.

XXIX.

The Mock-up

Demyx knew this. Still, anxiety jittered in his throat. "How?"

"It's a fairly routine process," Even explained. "Obviously, we will not inflict physical harm against you, as that would be counterproductive."

"And inhumane," Ienzo cut in.

Even waved dismissively. "Simply put, we will tell you what we feel you need to know, and then we will question you about it."

"You have to know these things by heart," Leon said. "So… if the pressure gets to you, you're not thinking of these things on the fly, and your answers will be consistent."

Ienzo crossed his arms tightly. He looked like he was holding himself together. "The hope is that complete submission will not cause you undue harm. But… we must be prepared."

Demyx felt strangely disembodied. "Sure."

"Let's start now," Leon said.

They went into the depths of the castle, down where there were no windows. As they walked, Ienzo squeezed Demyx's forearm briefly, but reassuringly. A small room. A few chairs were brought. He sat.

They spent the first day telling him all he would need to know. Some of it was lies, and some of it was in-between. Made up attack plans on the vessels. Made up information about Sora's whereabouts and his mission. Stuff about the town, where its heart was kept, how the committee kept it protected. They made him repeat the information back to them, word perfect, over and over again.

The second day they began easing him into it for real. He was woken in the middle of the night and ushered to the room. No food. No water. He wasn't even granted bathroom breaks.

"You'll be kept uncomfortable, if not worse," Even said. "You'll have to learn to be clearheaded despite it."

It would go like this for hours, until the fatigue and the thirst and the hunger had him halfway dizzy and his tongue would hurt from talking so much. Normally he was good at remembering things, but whenever Even would pose a question, all the discomforts in his body would choke and distract him until Even would repeat the question again.

"You won't get a second chance," Ienzo said. "Speed and efficiency is the key here."

"It'll probably come across as more genuine if he seems scared," Leon said after another hours-long session. Ienzo handed Demyx a glass of ice water and touched his shoulder briefly as if to apologize. "He has to seem desperate enough to fess up."

The more time Demyx spent with these people—all of them, in the castle, in the town—the more he was conscious about the fact that he may lose them for good. Or that something else might happen to them after this battle. He knew little about the X-blade, but he'd garnered enough to realize that it could cause the end of everything. Something in him had shattered. Maybe it was the illusion of peace.

"But not overly so," Even said. "There has to be enough of some kind of determination or self-preservation to warrant a double-cross. You have to be cold towards us," he said to Demyx. "You never cared, you were using us. You thought we could save you, but the tides have turned. You understand?"

Demyx nodded.

"We all need to take a break," Ienzo said.

"There will be no breaks once he gets there," Leon reminded. "They're not going to be humane."

"Even so," Ienzo said. "We're all exhausted, and there are other things we all need to attend to."

He felt his days running through his fingertips. It was nearly impossible to sleep. He would toss and turn, snatching a few minutes or hours at a time. He spent these night hours with the sitar, writing disjointed songs. It didn't do much to ease the anxiety.

What little free time left he spent with Yuffie. Often their time together was unnervingly common; he'd accompany her on patrol, or go food shopping with her, or they'd just go to one of her quiet places and talk. The conversations were deliberately not serious because neither of them could bear it. He realized that he didn't even really know her, and he probably wouldn't get the chance to.

"…I love the fall," Yuffie said one afternoon at the overlook. The weather was only just beginning to turn, bringing a dank chill during the night. "The colors. The smells. Back before the world fell there was an equinox celebration every year. There was this one old woman who would make sweet buns, with these candied radish stars." She held her fingers slightly apart to show the size. "It was this old, old tradition passed down from geezer to geezer. She died in the fall of the world, though. Aerith and I tried to make them once, but they… weren't the same." She leaned back against the wall and drew her knees to her chest.

"I think about that a lot," Demyx said. "All the stuff that must have been lost. And I don't mean through darkness, but that happens. I mean like time. There were people that existed thousands and thousands of years ago, and they must have made music and art and stories and everything, but it all just sort of gets forgotten. Or someone dies, and there it goes. Gone forever. I want to stop things getting lost." He lay back and breathed the fresh air. That same canvas was still there, snapping in the breeze. "This is the place we first made out."

"You were terrified."

"You are kind of scary."

She nudged him with her foot. "You've lost a lot," she said.

"This isn't about me. I mean, everyone has." He realized that, laying against the cool stone, he was a little cold for the first time in months.

"I'm going to miss you," she said. Before he could come up with something to say that wasn't depressing, she continued. "Will you play that song you wrote for me again? I want to memorize it."

"…Of course."

* * *

One more day.

He woke early, took a hot bath. When he left the bathroom, Even was waiting for him with a pair of scissors and a businesslike expression.

"What are those for?" Demyx asked.

"Your hair, your hair," Even said. "It's been bothering me for weeks. You think I'm letting you into the wild looking like that?" He brought him back into the bathroom in front of the very old long mirror. For a while—as the sun rose—Even trimmed at the sides, the ends, until Demyx saw a shadow of his old hairstyle emerge. "I'm afraid I've nothing for you to style it with," he said. "But it's better than it was."

"Thank you," he said. He knew this was Even's way of showing kindness.

"Well, you can thank me by coming back. And with valuable information!" He smiled suddenly, but it felt forced and theatrical.

Demyx returned to his room to pack. He was so panicked now he was strangely calm, above it all. He had one small knapsack but doubted he would even be able to fill it. The knife, obviously. Some clothes. The piano book was too big. He had nothing that was important to him, even after all this time; he had the two small lilac cloths that Luxord's Somebody had given him, and the blue handkerchief that Aerith's cookies had been wrapped in months ago. He slipped one of each into his pocket.

"…There's no point packing," Ienzo said from the doorway. He had a dark package in his arms. "They'll take everything from you. Especially that knife."

Demyx took it off his waist. He realized that he had grown attached to it, not because Lea had given it to him, but because it had helped return the music to him. Ienzo reached out for it, but he shook his head. "Can you wait to give it to him? Until after?"

"Reasonable." Ienzo paused, and frowned. "I'm sorry about lying to you in the beginning."

"I know why you had to do it." Silence hung densely and heavily. "What's that?" Before he finished the question he already knew.

"…Your cloak," Ienzo said timidly. "I kept it. I mended it. You'll need it to travel by corridor." He offered the cloak to Demyx. "Lea will make one for you later. You remember the plan?"

"I'm leaving early tomorrow morning. He'll send me on to the World that Never Was. I'll find the castle and turn myself in." Still, he didn't take the coat until Ienzo offered it a second time.

The bodice had been partially ripped to shreds. Despite being repaired by magic, thin ripples of scars battered the soft fabric, barely visible in the bright summer light. He'd forgotten what one of these cloaks felt like against the skin; they looked tough and leathery, but they were soft, the fabric malleable, waterproof, and very warm. The pants were there, too. Demyx stared at them, reviled by them. He reached down next to his dresser and retrieved the boots as well.

"Nine, I realize things have been difficult," Ienzo said. He had looked down. "But I have come… to think of you as a friend of mine. I will not be escorting you tonight. I hope you understand." He was teary, Demyx realized with a jolt.

"Ienzo… I care about you, too." He was getting choked up already; his calm starting to shatter.

Ienzo squeezed him once, abruptly, around the waist, and then left the room very quickly. Demyx made the rounds very slowly. First, he went to see Cid and Merlin down at Merlin's house. He was feeling blurry and unreal. Merlin smiled kindly and shook his hand. Cid, however, embraced him in a crushing hug that, like Ienzo's, was over far too soon.

"You better come back to us, you bastard," Cid said. "You know how boring it'll be without you? Nobody to beat me at cards?"

Leon and Aerith were next. Aerith's expression was tight and drawn, but she did not cry.

"Lea will be escorting you to the point of exodus," Leon said. "You remember the plan?"

"As much as I ever will," Demyx said numbly.

Leon's expression softened. "Thank you, for all of this," he added. "For your work on the town." He squeezed both of Demyx's hands. "Aerith, give it to him."

She held out a small pink and blue card. Demyx took it, barely able to read it. "We decided to make you a member of the committee, if you'll have us," she said. "Even if you remember your home world… you can always call this place home."

The tears he'd been keeping at bay all day broke free and he hugged her, hugged both of them, to try and convey what this meant to him.

* * *

It had been a long day of saying goodbye. There was one left.

Yuffie arrived quietly. For a while they sat in silence on his bed, hands tightly clasped. She noticed the black cloak folded neatly on the chair near the bed. "This is really happening."

"I know."

She kissed him gently. "Please try to come back."

He pulled her close. "I'll do everything I can."

Her hand trailed the collar of his shirt. "But you can't promise anything."

"No." He sighed. "Will you stay with me? Until tomorrow?"

"Of course."

They made love, but it was less a gesture of passion and more one of comfort, of solace. It took a while, and it was dark by the time they were through. She nodded off soon afterward, her head against his chest, snoring softly. He didn't plan on sleeping, ans was surprised when it happened anyway. When he woke the light coming through the window was gray and thin. Yuffie was still asleep. He kissed her cheek, slipped on some underclothes. Gathered his cloak. Bathed and dressed in the shallow light and then stood at the mirror for a long time. "…Déjà vu," he said. His hair wasn't quite the same, and the fabric of his coat was battered with stitches. But he might as well have been going off on another Organization mission.

He met Lea in the town square. As he waited, he smoked the last of the cigarettes he had won off Cid. He saw Lea approaching from far off, his Keyblade drawn.

"Hey," Demyx said. The word was half smoke. "Look, I'm sorry about—"

"Don't worry about it. I probably would have done the same," Lea said briskly. He faked a smile. "Look at you, huh? Nice hair."

"Even did it."

"Talking about playing hero."

"Not even." He stubbed out the cigarette butt.

Lea's face softened, became morose. "No need to waste time," he said. I'll send you through the corridor at the outskirts of the World that Never Was. If you can help it, don't fight or use your powers while inside. They'll know."

Now that the moment had come, Demyx was strangely calm again, even though his heart clanged in his ears.

"You'll have to pretend you made the corridor yourself," Lea continued.

"Yes. I know."

"They might ask you to prove it. You might have to try. Get a message to me if you're ever able to," Lea said. "Tell one of the Dusks, or Nobodies—a Dancer—to leave it by the old wrecked truck. Be vague and cipher it. You remember how?"

He nodded. "What code should I use?"

Lea smiled. "'Seashell.'"

"It's time, isn't it," Demyx said.

Lea nodded. "I think so." He lifted his hand to open the corridor.

"Thank you," he said. "For everything. For… for listening."

"Yeah. Don't mention it."

"Roxas would be proud of you," Demyx said. "He really would." He hugged Lea, quickly, tightly, and Lea tensed a moment. Demyx pulled away.

"Don't get all emotional on me now," he said with a hint of lightness. Demyx heard the corridor rip into being. "I'll see you on the other side."

And Demyx stepped into darkness.


	30. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx arrives in the World that Never Was, and his first contact goes badly.

XXX.

Arrival

The silence was suffocating and consuming. The smell was everywhere—smoke and burnt hair and something dark and sinister—and despite his previous revulsion he was thankful for the cloak and the protection it offered his pounding heart. He drew the hood up over his eyes and walked through the gray sand, treading a winding path that was all too familiar. He was breathing harshly, his mind racing in a million directions, thinking of his friends, of what he had to do, what he had to say. If he were being honest with himself, he hadn't had enough practice bullshitting.

The darkness pressed in on him. He could feel the Heartless, watching, waiting, but remaining at bay. Possibly they recognized the cloak, and what it meant for their kind. He was grateful that he didn't have to run.

Ahead of him, he saw the dim lights of the Nobody city. He paused. He could run right now, run into the abyss, be gone forever, go to any world of his choosing.

No. He couldn't. There was no way this was all in vain. There had to be  _something_  he could still do while he was alive. Still, he had the deep gut feeling that he wasn't going back.

He pushed into the night sky. In the World that Never Was it was raining. Demyx tipped his head up to feel it. Drew strength from it.

Instantly he felt the air press around him. He saw nothing, but he guessed somebody—or something—was on patrol in the area. All of his senses were on high alert, tinged with a brink of panic. He wove through the streets at a pace slightly faster than normal. Anticipation flooded him.

The castle. The god damn castle. It stared down at him, massive and white and unyielding. Demyx felt more presences pressing into his consciousness, all of them sticky with darkness and Nobody blood. He approached the bottom stairs, shaking all over, but he hoped that the fear would be what the committee wanted him to present.

Someone was waiting in the doorway. Demyx recognized the fit of the cloak instantly and tried not to clench his fists.

"I was wondering when you'd bother to turn up," Braig said jovially. "You have a pretty good sense of timing. You know that?" His hood was pulled up, showing nothing but the gaping maw of the hood.

Demyx floundered. "…I do?" he asked.

"Yep. You do. Oh, come on, don't be scared. Don't give me that look. I just wanna talk. Isn't that why you're here?"

A seed of nausea tightened in his stomach. How had Braig known? "Well… yes…"

"That's not a good way to treat an old friend, is it?"

He took a deep breath. "Hello, Braig."

"Hello!" he said rather cheerfully.

"How've you been?"

"Oh, me? I'm peachy. Just peachy." He remained standing in the middle of the doorway, his hands on his hips. "You, on the other hand, have seen better days."

Demyx took a deep breath. "About that. You know what happened to me, don't you?"

There was silence on Braig's part for a beat longer than was natural.

"That's why I'm here," he continued in a low voice. "Look, I can help you. There are things I know about Sora and the Restoration Committee. If you can fix me, I'll… I'll tell you everything."

A low chuckle came from inside the hood. "You really haven't changed a bit, have you?"

The tone of his voice was meant to placate Demyx, but still he could feel something waiting to spring. "I guess not."

Braig took a step closer. He planted both hands on his shoulders and it took all of Demyx's strength not to flinch away or retaliate. He stared deep into his eyes from the blackness. Demyx could just see the outline of Braig's chin. Braig clucked his tongue and let him go.

"So what's your deal? Why'd you come back, after so long?"

He spoke cautiously. "Like I just said. I want to be healed. And I hate that they were using me."

Braid nodded studiously. "Using you how?"

"Using my power. Never giving me information about my condition, even though they had it. They wanted me to use my power against you, not just to gather intelligence, but in the fight. They never liked me, much, even in the old days. They only saved me because they felt they had to."

"But the committee took to you like glue, didn't they," he said calmly.

"Because I helped them through a drought. And I only did that because it saved me, too." He wondered if he was overdoing it. "…As it turns out, do a favor for them and they do one for you."

"Always an opportunist. What do you mean by that?" Braig asked.

He hesitated. He had Braig's interest, but he couldn't tell whether or not he really believed him, or if he really had any power to negotiate. "There was an attack plan on the vessels," he said. "And that's all I'll say until we come up with a deal."

Braig's laughter was genuine this time. "Okay, all right, fine. What do you say we play truth for truth? Here's my first question for you. How did you expect to get away with this?"

A finger of panic slithered down Demyx's spine. "What?" he asked blankly.

"Not a word of what you just said to me is true," Braig said in a clear voice. "You're lying through your teeth. You used to be so  _good_  at it." In a flash, he was behind Demyx and wrenched back both of his arms. "So good. You know, I almost believed you. The fear in your voice. That hurt look in your eye. But you forgot a few things. You idiot."

He fought against his constraints, fear coursing through him. He didn't know how to react.

"Zexion used to sew our cloaks once they got ripped up," he said calmly. "I'd recognize that handiwork anywhere. Why would they fix it for you unless they intended for you to use it?" He tightened his grip on Demyx's wrists, pressing it hard against his shoulder blade. "I could see your resolve in your eyes. No. You're not that weak or slimy anymore. Your life doesn't mean  _shit_  to you the way you are now."

His breath was coming raggedly now.

Braig laughed. "Come on! You have to admit it's funny."

Braig was holding him so tightly it hurt and he couldn't get any words out.

"This is rich. Rich! To think we wasted all that energy preparing you, only for you to try and double-cross us on their behalf. Yep! Charade's up! It was me! I did it! I broke you. And," he added, like an afterthought, "I'll break you again. Buh-bye." A needle pierced the skin of Demyx's neck. He fought the tranquilizer, but his powers couldn't neutralize whatever this was, and he collapsed in a heap in Braig's arms.

* * *

Dazzling, dazzling whiteness.

The room was huge. The domed ceiling was actually so high up he couldn't even see it properly. The floor was smooth shiny tile, and for a moment he saw his own terrified face as he tried to push himself up. He was still here. Still alive. Mostly.

A soft pop. Braig appeared at the other edge of the room, approaching slowly. His hood was down now, revealing his bared teeth, his white hair.

"Oh no! The scary old man!" he said loudly. He slipped out of sight, and Demyx turned around, searching for him desperately.

Another pop. "Right behind you," he said into Demyx's ear. Demyx whirled, trying to knee him in the crotch. Pop. "Sucks when your own plan backfires, doesn't it?" And Braig kicked him right in the groin, so hard he almost passed out. "You're supposed to wear a cup. Jackass. All that preparation, and they didn't tell you that much?"

Demyx struggled against the pain. There was something wrong in his body, worse than the pain. His ears were ringing. His powers were gagged, leaving a foggy smear of consciousness where it was supposed to be. His muscles were shaking.

He pulled hard against the fog, reaching for Arpeggio, reaching for something, but nothing came.

 _Pop._  Braig approached him slowly, at a walk, and seized him by the hair. "You know I was rooting for you? I didn't mind you, the way the others did. You tried. You had an admirable will to live. So I figured, hey, I'll give the kid a bone. Rather than letting you be a stone floating through space—that's right, your world doesn't exist anymore, it's still gone, we needed it gone—I thought, I'll put him somewhere. Somewhere nice. Somewhere he's familiar with." He tugged harder and Demyx fought to break his iron grip. "I used you too. Boo-hoo. I knew you would fall in with that crowd if I broke you just a little."

"Why are you telling me this?" Demyx asked through gritted teeth. Part of him writhed for the answers.

"Because, face it, you're not going to be around much longer." Braig let go of his hair and kicked him solidly in the chest. Demyx felt a rib crack. "And I'm not a prick. You at least deserve the truth. Isn't that what this has been about? Not the guilt over your war crimes, not the love, not the friends you made along the way. The truth."

He choked for air and spat up blood.

"Yes. We were going to use you to get information on them," he said boredly. "That's obvious. Sometimes old man Xehanort is an obvious dude. So obvious you'd never be able to realize he was the one doing it in the first place. In fact, he wanted all of you. The whole set, to put up on a shelf. I said that's ridiculous. You can break them, make them a little bit uncomfortable. Let them help Sora, for all I care. Make the other side feel like it has some hope."

He let Demyx go and he fell hard onto the ground. "I haven't had to do this in a while, so forgive me if I'm rusty. Look. I'm rooting for you. If you answer my questions I might just let you go. You couldn't ever go back there. But you could go. How does that sound?"

He touched his right side, the aching rib. He couldn't catch his breath. "I don't know what I could tell you."

"I think you're a whole lot smarter than anyone gives you credit. Isn't that what this is about?" He knelt by Demyx. "Was the committee really trying to attack the vessels?"

Demyx didn't speak. He should have anticipated that somebody would have figured it out in the end. "Yes," he said.

Braig stood up and turned his back. Demyx struggled to sit up.

"Do you know how we used to turn higher Nobodies into Dusks?" he asked finally.

Demyx blinked. The brightness of this room was stabbing his eyes.

"It wasn't just an empty threat. It's possible."

"But I'm human," Demyx said.

"With your heart the way it is? Who knows how you'll react," Braig said. He took something out of his pocket. It was an average, ordinary medical syringe, still in the wrapping. And a vial of grayish liquid. Demyx tried to back away from him, but the pain in his ribs and between his legs hampered him, and Braig quickly teleported over. He opened the syringe and let the wrappings fall to the shiny floor.

Demyx noticed for the first time that there was a drain in the center of the room. A hot flush broke out across his body. He pushed harder against whatever was gagging his powers, only to have blackness temporarily wash over him.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Braig said. "That stuff's not exactly good for your nervous system."

He must've been right; Demyx's fingers and toes were feeling numb, but that could have easily been the animal panic sweeping over his mind.

Braig jabbed the needle into the vial and filled it partway. Very calmly, he tapped out the air. "A milliliter won't do much other than cause you pain. But more than that? Who knows." Braig grabbed his arm. He thrashed, trying to pull away. Braig yanked up his sleeve. Demyx went, inexplicably, limp, and it took him a moment to figure out that Braig was manipulating the space around him. He felt the needle go in. A coldness ran through his body as Braig's powers held him down.

The serum scraped like razors across his nerve endings, erupting in a pain he could barely conceive.

"It's not magic, that gets them in the end," Braig said calmly. "It's the pain. Breaks down the will to live, all those higher concepts of self. After that, well, the rest is easy. You shape 'em the way you want 'em, like clay." His face was too close to Demyx's. "Was the committee planning to attack the vessels?"

One word. He just had to say one word. He wasn't sure what would come out of his mouth if he managed to unclench his jaw.

"Take your time," Braig said. "That stuff takes forever to get out of your system."

He couldn't breathe. He wished he would pass out; it would make this end all the sooner. But his body kept drawing breaths. His vision had a strangely sheeny quality and the taste of copper filled his mouth. He just had to say yes. Yes. "…No," he said. He was trembling all over.

"Now that wasn't so hard," Braig said. He pushed a lock of hair out of Demyx's eyes. "All that stuff in your bloodstream now? Makes it pretty damn impossible to lie. You can try all you want. I wouldn't recommend it, though." He paused. "You should have just run. Nobody would have judged you. The only thing you used to be good at was keeping yourself alive, and now you can't even do that."

He choked for air. He was too shocked to cry, or to do anything other than tense up and shut down right there. Luxord's Somebody had been right.


	31. The Interrogation/ Waking up. Again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demyx's encounter with Braig reaches an end.
> 
> This chapter features depictions of an interrogation that, while not necessarily bloody or violent, may be disturbing.

XXXI.

The Interrogation

"…We used to do things the old-fashioned way," Braig said conversationally. "But you remember Larxene. Things got out of hand, fast. Nobody we're questioning is good to us dead. Now, I don't mind a mess, but it's hard to get a stain out of white tile. Doesn't improve morale during questioning. So they sent Vexen to work in his labs. How do we get what we want while still making sure our victim stays young and pretty? This was the answer."

Demyx didn't know how long it had been, but it must have been hours, because now a creeping fatigue was blotting out the remnants of the pain. And he was so thirsty. The air was so dry in here; it was like it was sucking the moisture right out of him. A headache dimly pounded in the back of his skull. It took him a while to realize Braig was no longer holding him down. He propped himself up. His elbows were shaking too much to take his weight.

"Your job was to come here and lie, right?" Braig began. He was sitting on the floor, legs crossed, like he was about to join a drum circle. "Was any of what they fed you completely true?"

Again he was struggling against his own tongue. The pain was fading, but the rest of the effects remained like glue. He grit his teeth. He would just have to stay quiet. He could do that. It was the easy way out.

Braig sighed. "What do you really owe these people? All they did was lie to you. You tell me now, you might be able to help them, in the long run."

Demyx didn't want to believe him.

He took out the needle again. "It's a yes or no question, Demyx."

His name made him jump.

"Wouldn't you like to know your name? And the truth? We don't have to keep playing like this. It could be easy. No more nasty man. Let's go back to being friends." Demyx saw the fresh vial and his eyes watered. "Tell me."

He looked away. His mind was racing.

"If you think one CC hurt, I don't think you'll like two," Braig said.

One felt like nothing compared to two. He didn't think he was physically capable of holding this much pain. It spread out through him like water, shredding every cell and locking every muscle into a spasm. It gnawed his organs. For the first time, he felt something jabbing into his heart and his hand went to his chest automatically.

"It'll just keep pushing you from here," he said. "The effects don't wear off after two CCs. Your heart's already pretty damaged. You probably can't take three. Why risk it?"

The committee said they wouldn't blame him if he ended up speaking. Was it his fault if he were physically unable to lie? Even if he survived this, the beginning, what would this Organization tell him? They couldn't trust him. They knew why he was here now. There had to be some way to salvage this. But he couldn't think with his head pounding.

The agony continued for an indefinite and infinite amount of time. Every breath felt like fire. He'd bitten the inside of his cheek and tasted blood. His mind was muddled and everything was blurry. All the while the ache around his heart deepened. He tried to keep his mouth shut, but the truth left him alongside a jagged noise. "No."

Braig digested this. "Man, you guys were stupid," he said. "How desperate do you have to be? They just don't want to fight. Now tell me the truth. With all that you know, do you think that the committee has any chance of surviving this?"

Another struggle, another answer. "No."

"How much of coming here was a quick way to bite it? You don't have to answer that."

His vision was swimming. Thin, brittle tears ran down his face. He gagged on the pain.

"So they sent you here to get information on us because they have none," Braig continued. "Now, Demyx. What do you remember? Do you remember anything? Think hard. Be a good little boy. What do you remember before the Organization?"

He trembled and spat more blood. "There was a desert, and…" It was taking all of his strength to form complete sentences. "You turned me. You turned me  _twice_."

"Not the word I'd use, but more or less on the nose," Braig said. "You were from a real shithole. That place made some pretty good Heartless though, I won't lie. All the people who hurt you… they're Heartless. And what happened to you? Your will somehow pulled you through, whole, as a child." Braig leaned down next to him. "What do you remember from when you woke up?"

"…When I…" He could barely comprehend just what Braig was saying. Fog and pain seeped through him in equal parts.

" _After_  you fought Sora."

A pulse of pain shot through his chest. "…I… It was dark… and… it rained…" He hadn't really been conscious until Ienzo began bandaging his wounds that day long ago. "I saw…  _your_  face… You said something." The pain in his chest surged and he fought hard against the words. "You told me to…" Blackness washed over his mind. When he came to he could feel his heart racing. "Kill…"

"Kill who? Sorry.  _Whom._ "

He hiccupped. Sweat oozed out of every pore. "Leon?"

"Well. That's what was  _supposed_  to happen," Braig said. "You got your foot in the door with the committee. It would have been great; complete destruction of Sora's entire support system. And it would have made him distrust the rest of the old Organization instantly. But it didn't work. Why didn't it work?"

The question was directed at him. "I don't know, I…" He felt sick. He'd never even had so much as a negative thought about Leon. Not to mention, how it would make the other members of the committee feel…

Braig seized his collar. "Tell me."

"I don't know! I swear!"

"I think you do. I think, in your heart of hearts, you know the answer." Braig chuckled. "Nothing pisses me off more when people I trust lie. Wouldn't you agree?" He took out the syringe again.

"No!" His voice was hoarse. Braig crumpled the space around Demyx again and he collapsed.

"If this won't get you to tell the truth, nothing will," Braig said. This time, the needle pierced his spine. "You better hope you live through it first."

Every bit of him imploded. Brightness throttled his cells, eating though his extremities before concentrating on his organs. It slithered into his heart, melding with the faint fracture lines he could really  _feel_  for the first time.

"Something healed you enough so we couldn't use you," Braig said. "I see it in your eyes now. It was… the girl." He shook his head. "For fuck's sake. You converts to good are all the same. That shit's really good and inside you now, isn't it?" He nudged Demyx's leg.

The pain seemed distant at this point, leaving behind a drowning numbness that was slowly creeping over him. Only the piercing in his heart remained. He forced his fingers into a fist. Pushed through the thinning fog in his head. Braig hadn't seen the need to give him a second dose to anesthetize his powers.

"What are you—" Braig asked, but before he could so much as react Demyx snapped the largest blood vessel he could find in Braig's brain. He hit the ground.

The corridor took the rest of his strength and then some, and for a few minutes he was sure he was going to keel over in the realm of darkness. The pain in his heart tightened around his throat. His hands touched the smooth stone outside the corridor and he fell in a heap. It was hard to breathe, so he didn't try. He shut his eyes. Maybe sleep wouldn't be so bad.

* * *

EPILOGUE

Waking up. Again.

Cold and numb and white.

Cold and numb and white and pain and breath—

Binding a consciousness takes time. It took him a while to even realize that time existed and was passing. It must have been, because the white gave way to gray and then black, then gray then white again.

After a while, color. After that, dreams.

When he was a kid sometimes he and his mother would leave the village and head towards the horizon. She would pack a lunch, always the same rice balls, seasoned with jasmine. They would walk until the dry grasses of the plains gave way to total sand. One day, she reached down into this sand and dug for close to a minute. She held up something round and white. "Look, little fish." That was her name for him, because when she was pregnant she could feel him flopping in her belly like a fish. "You know what this is?"

He touched it. It was ridged, and smooth, about the size of his thumb.

"It's a seashell," she said. "Long ago, all this used to be an ocean. But the spirits were angry with humans, for their violence and their cruelty, and they took the ocean away with a song. They say if you listen well on a windy night, you can still hear that sound on the breeze." She smiled. "It's a story. But this is something that's true. You love music, little fish. Sometimes I swore you'd bring the ocean back. Remember this song for me."

She sang something low and soft and simple in a language he did not understand. It shook him to the core, bringing tears to his eyes.

"My mother gave it to me, now I give it to you," she said. "When you think of it, that's me loving you."

* * *

He slept for a long time.

He didn't wake up all at once, but in pieces. His body was a sprawling, aching  _thing_  that needed to be taken care of. A heart that beat. Lungs that needed air. Also, the fact that he existed was sort of boggling.

The memories took their time arriving. The years and pain came boiling in, but he was at a safe distance from it. The more things came, the more he was aware he was missing part of the puzzle. A lot of parts, actually. There were whole expanses unaccounted for, gaping in his mind.

Who was he? There was no name, only that slight numbness, a pinch in the chest. There was the alias, the fake name, the one he'd clung to for so long. It was tight and didn't fit. He waited a while but the rest of it never showed up, and he knew he'd have to wake up for good. So he did.

This room was blue, not white. A soft bed. Tubes stuck in his hands. Dank, damp, frigid air. He tried to sit up, only to immediately feel every muscle complain. The second try was a little more successful. Someone had put him in a linen nightshirt and it was coarse against his skin.

He asked himself the question mostly because he had to. Was he dead?

He hurt too much to be dead, but his luck was rotten enough that it was hard to be sure.

Something wasn't adding up.

He stretched. He could tell he'd lost a lot of time. Weeks, maybe longer; he was borderline atrophied. He could see the veins in his forearms. He'd lost more weight. How was this possible? How was he here?

He took a deep breath. Something like a strange laugh came out of his throat.

A door he hadn't previously noticed opened and in came Ienzo.

"Yes," Ienzo said. "Luxord said you would wake up one of these days. Demyx."

He shivered and tried to speak, but he was too hoarse.

"I'm sure you must have a lot of questions." Ienzo approached him and checked his pulse with a cold hand. "Your vitals are already so much more stable."

He swallowed in an attempt to get more moisture into his mouth. "H-how—"

"About three months," Ienzo said. "It's the tail end of December. Xehanort is dead. You, on the other hand, are very much alive."

Demyx shook his head. He couldn't believe this. It was a dream, a hallucination, something—

"For quite a few weeks we weren't sure you would make it," Ienzo said. He sat at the foot of the bed. "A living body, but a lack of consciousness—we figured your heart had shattered. But when I tried to reach your mind, your consciousness was repairing itself, albeit very slowly. Do you follow?"

He nodded. The cold in the room was incredible. Ienzo helped him tuck the blanket around his shoulders.

"Things started to make sense to me," Ienzo said. "Your lack of memories. Your instability. These were the same things Even and Dilan experienced the first few days after their reformation. And I realized something crucial. Your reformation was never tampered with because it was never fully allowed to happen in the first place. They were able to stop it, somehow. What you've experienced these past few months— _that_  was the real reformation, triggered by an apparent cessation of life. Perhaps Lea and the others knew this, or figured it was possible, which is why they pushed so hard for you to go on the mission. But if that's the case they did a very good job keeping it from me."

When Demyx didn't respond, he continued.

"The damage done to your Nobody's growing heart was irreversibly woven into your psyche. It's healed, but it's left behind scars, so to speak. You might still have trouble recalling things. I'm sorry. But the good news is that you will be healthy."

It was hard to process this. This room was so painfully bright.

"Do you understand me? Demyx? Of course this must be all so very overwhelming."

He nodded. He was feeling dizzy now. Ienzo took his hand. "Yuffie?"

"Yuffie's alive and well and very worried about you."

"This can't be real," he whispered.

"I assure you it is," Ienzo said.

His eyes watered. These emotions seemed even bigger and even harder to keep track of. Ienzo hugged him, solid and warm, while he cried.

It was clear that this recovery would take longer than all the rest. Not just physically—though that in itself was staggering—but emotionally. Most of his memories were still gone, but less so than before. Old ones, awful ones, would stab him while he slept; and considering how weak he was, he slept upwards of twelve hours a day. There was no sedative that could keep the dreams at bay.

Even and Ienzo took to counseling him. At first sharing such traumatic things with them made it even worse, because there was the added humiliation of having to describe it. But sometimes Ienzo would walk with him through the memories, talk him through it, and while the pain was still awful, at least he knew he was justified in how he felt.

They didn't let him see Yuffie until two days after he woke up, because they were concerned about him getting too overwhelmed at once. But when she did come, he barely saw her before she was pulling him into her arms. "You came back," she said. She was shaking all over. "You really did."

He breathed in her warm, slightly salty smell, and let himself be relieved for the first time that he'd survived.

It took weeks, then months. He had to put back on the weight he'd lost in the coma, then go through physical therapy to try and get some of his strength back. Yuffie was with him most of the time, and so were Ienzo and the others. After about a month he could manage most things on his own, even if walking the length of the town still tired him.

But he wouldn't find out what really happened with Xehanort until nearly spring. The battle had happened after all, but under different circumstances. There was no thirteen darknesses versus seven lights. Mostly, it turns out, because one of the darknesses had already been killed in action.

"It was you all along," Lea told him. He was looking haggard and tired still, but Demyx could sense the relief weighing heavily on him. "So it wasn't in vain. Luxord. That bastard. When you killed Braig… you set the whole thing off. We started picking them off, one by one, like Sora did with us in the Organization. So when we finally faced Xehanort… it was tough, but it was easier than it would have been."

"He was right about some things," Demyx said. It was snowing in town today, a late winter snow, and it caught in the wool of their hats and scarves. "I  _did_  die. Even said I was technically dead for ten minutes, and that's when they found me. But then the reformation started. I was actually a Nobody the whole time." He shook his head. "If somebody had told me that all I had to do to get fixed was to get myself killed, I probably would have done it a long time ago."

Lea laughed. "Believe it or not, you did your part in saving the world. Congrats. How does it feel?"

"Unreal," Demyx said.

"Yeah. You've got me there." Lea took out a cigarette and lit it.

"Ienzo said they might actually try that, with the others. A controlled way to heal them, as well. We'll actually all be okay. I can't believe it."

"I know. No more Heartless. Soon, no more Nobodies. The darkness probably won't rise to the same degree again, at least, not for a while. We're… free. As free as we can be, anyway. Thing is… what do we do now?"

"Whatever we want," Demyx said.

* * *

When spring came he was just about healthy. Without Heartless, the committee could actually turn towards improving the town fully. Of course, every now and again they'd find a pureblood they'd missed, but all the artificial types had been destroyed or vanished. Soon, there would be no more than the natural kinds, and hopefully none of those would be created in Radiant Garden.

The committee work gave him something to look forward to, even when his mind would torment him with the memories. Especially now that he was fully a part of it. He helped Aerith build an irrigation system for the new gardens. When he was stronger, he started helping Yuffie, Leon, and Cid with the construction.

"I thought of a project you might be good for," Leon said one April afternoon when they finished their work for the day. "Now that the infrastructure's getting up to speed, we can start thinking long term. We used to have such a rich artistic history. It was something Ansem the Wise was very proud of. I was thinking maybe you could go around and talk to people, get them to tell you Radiant Garden's legends. Or to sing you the folk songs, so you can write them down. It's your history now, too. What do you say?"

How could he say no?

When summer came, he'd been in Radiant Garden a year. Despite the horrible dryness, it was peaceful.

He spent most of these nights with Yuffie. Walking, mostly, now that it was safe to.

"I forgot how much I missed being out at night," she said. She breathed deeply. "It's so quiet. And calm."

"I thought you were an agent of chaos," he teased.

"Oh, I absolutely am," she said. "Still, sometimes I like peace and quiet. Now that I have time to think about stuff."

"What do you think about?" Now that they had all this time, they were learning so much about each other. He realized that she had a thoughtful, tender side she usually kept guarded, though he had no idea why.

"I've been thinking long term," she said. "About the town. I get so excited about what we can do that I can't sleep. But then, you know, eventually it'll be nice again, like how it used to be. Then what do I do? I don't know who I am without the committee. I'm not like you. I'm not an artist, I don't have anything I'm really passionate about. The only other thing I'm good at is fighting, and that's almost completely useless now."

"Well, you can learn," he said.

"I didn't think I ever would be able to," she said. "That's the thing."

He kissed her hand. "We can do it together."

* * *

Towards the end of August Ienzo volunteered himself to be the first one to purposefully trigger the reformation, or "re-reformation" as Demyx was calling it.

"It's almost completely certain that I'll pull through, but still I'm… hesitant," Ienzo told him the night before. Demyx realized that all their recent confidence in one another had resulted in something genuine; without meaning to, Ienzo had become his best friend.

"Well, yeah, I would be too," Demyx said. "It's kind of a big deal."

"Even said it will be painless. He'll put me to sleep, then trigger an overdose with opiates. And then… well, hopefully things will go according to plan. It has to be me first, before the others. We need to know this works." He nodded to himself, but he looked terrified.

"I'll wait for you," Demyx said.

Ienzo smiled. "If somebody had told me, back when I was in the Organization, how things would turn out, I wouldn't have believed them. It's simply impossible."

"Tell me about it," Demyx said.

And he was there for all of it. He was with Ienzo when Even injected the drugs. He was there when Ienzo's heart stopped, when he stopped breathing.

Even had so far been cool and collected, but sweat was beading along his forehead. "It takes minutes. Minutes," he muttered to himself.

Demyx couldn't help but worry too. It seemed to go against the grain, killing yourself to be alive. Seeing Ienzo there, motionless, brought tears to his eyes.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Even quite suddenly left the room. Demyx took Ienzo's hand.

"Come on," he said. "Please."

Demyx sat there, numb, for a long time. It was just taking a while, that was all. Any minute now and it would kick in and everything would be fine. He wouldn't let himself cry because there was no reason to. Ienzo's skin was still warm, he kept telling himself that.

He must have fallen asleep because he woke with a jolt, his neck at a harsh angle. The body next to him was breathing sharply and harshly and Demyx's fear gave way to relief.

Days passed, then weeks. Unlike when he had been going through it, there was no way to monitor Ienzo's progress, just to keep him alive long enough for him to wake up. Demyx hadn't realized how much work it took, weeks of tubes and bags and medicines and vitals and needles. After a while he asked Even to teach him. Sometimes Demyx would read to Ienzo, or play him songs. He hoped that it helped.

Ienzo woke up in October, disoriented and pale but whole.

"Welcome back," Demyx said tiredly.

"Demyx," Ienzo said hoarsely. "Have you been here the whole time?" He spoke slowly, with difficulty. "I thought I heard music. I figured it was a memory."

"It's not right for us to struggle along alone," Demyx repeated.

* * *

He wasn't quite sure he would ever believe that this was real. He was rebuilding his life; the town was rebuilding, too. Every day he was learning more what it meant to be human, to grow, to create. While now and again the pain would come unbidden, he knew it would pass, that he would be fine.

Well into that second year, he and Yuffie sat at the overlook, leaning into one another on a blanket. There were more than just ruins here now. The gardens had once just been for food, but now flowers were starting to grow again.

"So Even was fine?" Yuffie asked.

"Yes, he's recovering now," Demyx said. "He's the last one. It's all over. Finally. You know, it's kind of weird. Some days I actually  _miss_  that. Must be the sadomasochist in me."

"Tell me you're not actually into that."

He flinched. "Oh, god, no."

"Sucks. It'd be kind of hot."

He rolled his eyes. "No, I miss the traveling," he said. "Theoretically, I could still do it, but I'm not ready to try the corridors. That darkness scares the shit out of me."

"Maybe someday we could do it together," she said. "You know, I'd actually like to get out there and  _see_  what this has all been about." She sat up suddenly and snapped her fingers. "I think I figured out what I want to be when I grow up."

"What's that?"

"I was already thinking about opening a shop in the marketplace. What if we found cool things out in the world, and brought them back here? People'd love it. It'd really shake things up."

"You know, that doesn't sound too bad," he said.

"So what do you say? In a few months, or so, we go out there?"

"I'd say it's a deal," he said.

She kissed him softly, and there they sat, thinking about what could come next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to say thank you to all who have read, left kudos, and commented on this story. I hope you enjoyed my little story about Demyx. I really enjoyed writing it.


End file.
